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793.1 Kl9th 


793.1 K19th 

ofcemse, boob may be 
weeh. Borrowers 

00 tnS'for ov^ue books 2o a day plus cost of 
n tt( St cards and change of residence must be re- 

Public Library 

Kansas City, Mo. 



A Collection of Twenty-five Blackouts 


* # * 

Amateurs may use these numbers without payment of a royalty. 

Copyright, 1935, by The Northwestern Press 

All Rights Reserved 

Made in U. S. A. 


Ito N 

2ZQR PwK Avenue, 
/Aircixeapolis. Minnesota. 

A "blackout" is a funny little creature with a stinger in 
its tail. In other words, a blackout is a very short, pithy 
skit that ends as abruptly as it began, the high spot being 
in the last one or two lines. It is much shorter than ^ the 
ordinary one-act playlet, but longer than the dramatized 

The blackout is growing in popularity both on the pro- 
fessional and amateur stage, as well as a form of short 
entertainment in the parlor. "Used as a filler for between 
the acts on the stage, or as an ice-breaker at a house party 
it never fails to please if properly presented. Many rules 
of play technique are sacrificed in the construction of the 
blkqf^; 'ftf > the three-act play and most of the one-acters 
thf jr : ''i5otffe form of introduction wherein the audience is 
informed of what has taken place previous to the opening 
of the play, and to acquaint them with the facts and cir- 
cumstances. Then there must be a plot that needs develop- 
ing. Next, there must be a climax, which is the highest 
point of interest. This is followed by the unraveling of the 
tangles, and the solving of certain problems. In the black- 
out there is a minimum of introduction and the play ends 
at the climax. There is no unraveling or solving. Any- 
thing that might have happened after the climax is reached 
is left to the imagination of "the audience. The longer play 
may be likened to a" photograph., where all the details are 
set forth, while the blackout is like an artist's drawing 
the more important things are set forth, and the details are 
left for the spectator to inject. 

A blackout is called a blackout because the stage lights 
are extinguished when the act ends instead of lowering a 
curtain on the scene. To lower a curtain, which is neces- 
sarily a slow-moving means of blotting the scene, on an 
act that starts and stops so quickly would ruin the effect. 

'J?ke state ot rfphgisdn Darkness. The player or players take 

tl^ir piacjpfcf; Cthp* iiglits/ are , switched on, and the play Is 
Immediately in progress. Simultaneously with the last word 
to be $pgtf$Qft, or the very last bit of business, the lights 
are swlfcfiecf off, and are not turned on again until the 
players have left the stage, or rearranged themselves for the 
subsequent blackout The blackout may be played as a 
single feature, or a group of them may be played one after 
the other. 

In the following blackouts It will be noted that the cos- 
tuming is made as simple and easy as possible. Very little 
scenery is necessary. Most of the acts call for a simple 
living room setting. For this reason they may be presented 
anywhere, any time. The number of players In the casts 
are small and the properties very simple. 

When in doubt, try a blackout. 




For Three Women 


For Three Men 


For Two Men and One Woman 


For Two Men and One Woman 


One Man, One Woman and One Boy 


For One Man and Two Women 


For Two Men and One Woman 


For Two Men -and One Woman 


For One Man and Two Women 


For Two Men- and One Woman 


For Three Men and One Woman 


For Two Men and Two Women 


For Two Men and One Woman 


For One Man and Two Women 




One Man, One "Woman and One Boy 


For One Man and One Woman 


For One Man and Two Women 


For Two Men and One Woman 


For Two Men 


For Two Men and a Boy 


For One Man and Two Women 


For One Man and Two Women 


One Man, One Woman and a Lad 


One Man and Two Boys 


One Man,, One Woman and One Boy 

No Visitors 




I two high school seniors 

THE NURSE at the hospital 

The girls are typical high school girls about seventeen or 
eighteen years old. The nurse is a pleasant woman of forty- 
five. She wears the costume of a graduate nurse. 

SCENE: Simple setting to represent the waiting room of a 
hospital A small stand and a wicker settee will suffice. 
May be staged without furniture. 


(INEZ and MARJ are standing near Center., looking 
about rather foolishly as if they hardly knew what to do.) 

INEZ (Giggles.) Now that we're here, Marj 9 what in the 
world are we going to do? 

MARJ. Why, Inez, you talk as if you had never been in 
a hospital before. 

INEZ. I never have been. 

MARJ. Neither have I. (They giggle.) What do we do? 
Just sit down until somebody comes? 

INEZ. Until somebody comes and hauls us off to the 
operating room. 

MABJ. I certainly feel foolish standing here. 

INEZ, We'd feel just as foolish silling down. I'm just 
about ready to run. 

MARJ. Fin going to ask somebody, 

INEZ. Ask them what? If we can see Vincent? 

MARJ. Of course. Who else did we come here to see? 
1 hope lie isn't hurt badly. 

INKZ. You heard what they said at the game when they 
carried him oil the field. He had a broken leg. 

MARJ, Oh, but wasn't it wonderful? 

INEZ. The broken leg? 

MARJ. No, no. The way Vincent carried that ball for 
two touchdowns. 

INEZ. If he hadn't had the accident he would have made 
another touchdown. He runs like a deer. 

MARJ. He is a dear. Well, now that we're here to see 
him. Fin not so sure that we should go in. 

INEZ. What? 

MARJ. Do you think we should? He might not like it, 

INEZ. Oh, he likes me, Marj, I know he does, because 
he smiled at me in class Wednesday. And what a smile that 
boy has! When he smiled at me 1 was headed straight for 

MARJ. Well, come back to earth. We're in a hospital. 
Say 5 maybe they won't let us go in where he is. 

INEZ. I don't see why not, Marj. A broken leg isn't so 

MARJ. Not nearly as serious as a. broken heart, and if 
you fall any harder for him that's what you'll have. 

INEZ. Oli ? is that so? Well, you've done a lot of talking 
about him yourself. I wonder who we're supposed to ask. 

MARJ. One of the nurses, ninny. 

INEZ. But where are they? I haven't seen a nurse yet. 

MARJ. This might be their day off. 

INEZ, Nurses are never off, Marj. They work twenty- 
four hours a day sometimes more. 

MARJ. If we do go in Vincent's room, what will we say? 
What excuse will we offer for coming? He doesn't know 
us except that we are in his- classes. I'll bet he doesn't even 
know our names. 


INEZ. I don't care. He's just about the handsomest . . . 

MARJ, Sh! (Nods to offstage.) Somebody's coming out 
of that room there. 

INEZ (In a loud whisper.) It's a nurse. (Enter NURSE. 
She is about to pass the girls when they stop her.) 

INEZ. Are you er are you the head nurse? 

NURSE (Stops and smiles pleasantly.) No, I am not. 

INEZ (At a loss for words.) Oh! I we we thought 
you were the head nurse. 

NURSE. I'm a special nurse at present. Years ago I hap- 
pened to be head nurse in this hospital Now I am on spe- 
cial duty. 

INEZ. Oh. 

NURSE. Was there something or someone . . . ? 

MABJ. I'd like that is, we would like to see someone. 

INEZ. We'd like to see Vincent er Mr. Layman. 

NURSE. I'm sorry, girls, but the doctor left orders that 
no one except those of the immediate family should go in 
Mr. Layman's room. He is running a temperature. 

INEZ. So am I I mean, that's too bad. 

MARJ. Why er I'm his sister. 

INEZ (Quickly.) So am I. We're both his sisters. 

NURSE. You really are his sisters? 

INEZ (Nods head decidedly.) Oh, yes, we're his sisters, 
aren't we, Marj ? 

MARJ. Oh, yes, indeed. 

NURSE. Neither one of you girls resemble him in any 
way whatever. 

INEZ. That's what everybody says, but just the same, 
we're his sisters. 

NURSE. That's strange. I wonder why I've never met 
you girls before. 

MARJ (Gulps.) Then then you've known Vincent a 
long time? 

NURSE. Ever since he was born. You see, girls, I'm 
Vincent's mother. (Girls collapse*) 




V roommates 

BART a friend 


All three boys are of college age. Joe Is wearing a bath- 
robe, or dressing gown, and slippers. Fred is wearing a 
new suit and raincoat. Bart also wears a raincoat. 
* * * 

SCENE; A room very simply set as one might find in a dor- 
mitory, Beds are not essential. 


(JoE 9 in bathrobe., is pacing angrily back and forth. 

Enter BART.) 

BART. Heigh ho 9 Caesar! 

JOE. Hello, Bart. You didn't see it on the way in, did 

BAE.T. Be more explicit, brother. What did I see if I 
saw it? 

JOE, My raincoat. 

BART. What are you going to do, wear it to bed? 

JOE. I'm not going to bed. I just got up. What time 
is it? ' 

BART. One-thirty. Nearly time for the game that is 
if you're interested. 

JOE. If I'm interested! I've been interested for half 'an 
hour in the whereabouts of my raincoat, I can't go to a 
game on a day like this without a raincoat, 



BART. Going to wear it over the bathrobe? 

JOE. Who said anything about wearing it over a bath- 
robe? As soon as I got out of bed I missed my raincoat, 
and I've been looking for it ever since. 

BART. Where's your honorable roommate? 

JOE (Stops abruptly his pacing.) That's where my rain- 
coat is. Ill bet a punctured peanut Fred's swiped my rain- 
coat. If he has, I'll wring his neck till it sounds like Big 
Ben. Come to think of it, he lost his raincoat last week, 

BART. Well, don't get sore about it, Joe. You wouldn't 
expect the poor kid to go to the game without a raincoat, 
would you? 

JOE. But how how the heck am I expected to go with- 
out one? 

BART. As long as you haven't dressed yet, it would pay 
you to go back to bed and forget it. 

JOE. You're forgetting that I'm assistant, cheer leader. 

BART. Boy, you don't possess enough cheer right now to 
be third assistant. 

JOE. Well, you wouldn't be the picture of joy and hap- 
piness if somebody swiped your raincoat, would you? 

BART. Mebbe not. I've had this raincoat for eight years, 

JOE. Eight years? That coat? 

BART. This coat. 

JOE. It certainly doesn't look like you've had it eight 
years. How do you keep it looking so new? 

BART. That's easy. I've had it cleaned four times and 
last week I exchanged it in a restaurant for a newer one. 
Come on, if you're going to the game. 

JOE. I can't go without a raincoat, can I? 

BART. Slip on your clothes and wear the blanket. It 
looks like a horse blanket anyway. 

JOE. You have a lot o 9 sympathy for a guy in distress! 
I hope somebody steals your suspenders on prom night. 

BART. The only thing I can suggest is, go without your 

JOE. But you don't understand, Bart. Two of my suits 
are at the cleaners, and the only suit I have for the game 
is a brand new one. I just got it yesterday. 


BART. That's bad. Well, get dressed. By that time Fred 
might be back. 

JOE. Back, me eye! That bird's at the game now laugh- 
Ing up my sleeve. If 1 get my hands on him I'll . '. . ^71- 
ler FRED, wearing a raincoat tliat is wet.) 

FRED. Baby, and Is it raining! 

JOE. Say, you big prune, who said you could wear my 

FRED. Nobody. 

JOE. Then what business have you wearing it? 

FRED. Gee, Joe, I didn't think you'd want me to get your 
new suit all wet. (Throws back the raincoat, displaying a 
new suit. JOE sinks to the chair in a faint.) 





BOB Ms friend 

BETTY John's wife 

All are about twenty-five and neatly dressed. 

SCENE: Living room. A davenport half down Right under 
which is a package containing a lady's fur coat. Tele- 


(JoHN is seated with his head in his hands, looking 
disconsolately at floor. BOB is seated near.) 

BOB. Snap out ol it, John. Everything will come out all 

JOHN. Oh, yeah? (Holds out a letter.) With that hang- 
ing over my head? Bob, I'm in for it. 

BOB. But she said she'd not say anything if you got her 
a new fur coat, didn't she? 

JOHN. But how do I know she'll keep her word? Any- 
body that would play a dirty trick like that is capable of 

doing anything* Bob, sometimes I think I'm a fool. And 

I thought I was playing a gentleman's role when I asked 
her to ride, 

BOB. Times have changed, John. It certainly doesn't 



pay any more to pick up strangers and give them a lift, 
If they don't biff you on the head, they blackmail you. 

JOHN. Are you telling me? She was standing way out 
at the end of Emery Street waiting for a bus to town, and 
you know the buses come into town only three times daily. 
I thought as long as I was driving into town I might as 
well offer her a ride. And then to have her . . . 

BOB. Who is It she says she can call as a witness that 
you had your arm around her? 

JOHN. That guy that runs a filling station on Green and 
Marion Streets. 

BOB. Why didn't you see him about it? 

JOHN. 1 did go there, but he's gone for a day or two. 

BOB. Is he a buddy of her's? 

JOHN. He must be if he'll stand up and say that I had 
my arm about her when 1 didn't. Anyway, she's getting a 
fur coat out of it, and I'm out two hundred dollars. 

BOB. It's a tight place, John, 1 realize that, but I be- 
lieve I'd hesitate about spending two hundred as hush 

JOHN. You would if you were up against it as I am, Bob. 
With that woman lying, and a witness to back her up, what 
would my wife think? And if it's a ring of crooks, she 
may have a dozen other witnesses. It resolves Itself Into 
one thing, Bub: buy that she-devil a fur coat or have my 
home broken up. Maybe I'd better hide that coat before 
the wife pops in, 

BOB. Where is she now? 

JOHN. Grocery shopping. ! 

BOB. And where Is the coat? 

JOHN. Under the davenport. 

BOB. And if the two should meet there' d be trouble. 

JOHN. That's my Idea exactly. I have to get rid of that 

BOB. What's this woman's name? 

JOHN (Referring to the letter.) Lucille Bender, 

BOB. Address? 

JOHN. 1336 Fairmont, second floor front. 

BOB. Perhaps they're both fictitious. 


JOHN. I don't think so. She gave me that address so I'd 
know where to send the coat. 

BOB. Then why didn't you send it and get it out of the 


JOHN. I'm not such a fool as that. Bob. Pm going to 
deliver that coat myself and not leave until she signs a 
confession that she lies if she says I had my arm about her 
in the car. 

BOB (Stands.) Well, John, here's hoping you get the 
breaks. I have to beat it. I hope everything turns out all 
right, and if I can be of any help, call on me. 

JOHN. Thanks, Bob, but this looks like a one-man job. 

BOB. Or a one-woman job. Well, so long. (Goes Right,) 

JOHN. So long. (Pockets the letter. Bob exits Right.) 
What a mess! (Sits moodily for a moment, then leaps to 
his feet when he hears someone corning off Right.) That 
coat! (Quickly snatches it from beneath the davenport 
and is about to exit off Left when BETTY enters Right, 
dressed for the street. Has a few packages that she depos- 
its later on the table.) 

BETTY (Laughs.) Don't run away, John, Pm harmless. 

JOHN (Stops and looks rather sheepish.) Oh, yes. Hello, 

BETTY. My goodness, you look awfully guilty about 

JOHN. Guilty? (Forces laugh.) Why should I be guilty? 
I was just going to my room with with . . . 

BETTY. What's in the package? 

JOHN. Oh, just some underwear, Betty. Pll be right 

BETTY. Aren't you going to let me see it? I nearly 
bought you some while I was out. Let me see it. 

JOHN. Aw, Betty, it's just common everyday underwear. 
(Starts Left.) 

BETTY (Stepping towards him.) I just wanted to look at 
it. I won't bite it. 

JOHN. Listen, Betty, underwear is underwear, isn't it? 

BETTY (Steps to him.) Pm interested, that's all. (Reaches 
for the package.) 


JOHN (Steps away.) Aw, Betty, please. 

BETTY. John Marshalton, anyone would think you had 
a reason for not leiting me see it! 

JOHN (Quickly.) Oh, no! 

BETTY (Laughs.) Fraidy cat! Fraidy cat! (Bel ore he 
realizes she has snatched ihc package from him.) 

JOHN (Desperately,) Betty! Give that to me! Do you 
hear? Don't you dare open that! 

BETTY. Oh! Now 1 do want to see it. (Starts to tear 
the paper from the box.) 

JOHN (Makes an unsuccessful grab at the package.) For 
Pete's sake, Betty, give me . . . 

BETTY (Takes the fur coat from the box and gasps.) 
John! fJoHN gulps.) John Marshalton! Is is . . . ? 
(Throws her arms about his neck.) Oh, John, you darling! 
fJoHN gulps.) Oh 5 you dear, dear man! This is one time 
you haven't forgotten my birthday. (Kisses him.) I'll be 
right back, dear, and you'll think I'm a queen. Ta, ta! 
(Prances off Left.) 

JOHN (Drops limply onto the davenport.) What a mess! 
What a mess! (Telephone rings. He rises slowly and goes 
to the phone. He removes the receiver. To phone.) Hello! 
. . . (Registers interest.) Huh? (Becomes excited.) Bob! 
what did you say? ... What? . . . Say that again, Bob! . . 
You just found out that Lucille Bender was pinched for 
shoplifting and sentenced? . . . For six months? Excuse 
me while I dance. (Replaces the receiver and dances about. 
Enter BETTY, wearing the fur coat.) 

BETTY. How happy it must make you feel, dear, to give 
me this. 

JOHN. oh," yes, dear, it does. I'm extremely happy. 
More than I can ever tell. 

BETTY. And, John . . . 

JOHN. Yes? 

BETTY. What animal is this fur from? 

JOHN. A jackass. 




MONTY MORSE who goes berserk 

NORMA Ms wife 

DOCTOR LAYMAN who calls 


Monty, about thirty, is nicely dressed, but his hair is 
tousled, and he is very nervous and upset. Norma, about 
twenty-five, a pretty woman in neat house dress, is some- 
what bewildered by Monty's condition. Doctor Layman is 
a typical doctor with a soothing voice. 

# * * 
SCENE: Living room. 


( MONTY is standing, staring at the floor, but in every- 
way conveying to the audience that he is very nervous. 
NORMA is at the phone, but has her eyes on MONTY, 
rather anxiously watching him.) 

NORMA (To the telephone.) All right. Good-bye. (Re- 
turns the receiver and goes to MONTY J And now, dear . . 

MONTY. Norma, I tell you it can't be done. Absolutely 
can't be done! ... 



NORMA. Please, Monty, don't excite yourself. You'll be 

MONTY. Ill, nothing! I'm talking about cats. 

NORMA. 1 know, dear, that's all you've talked about 
since you got up this morning. 

MONTY, But don't you understand, Norma, you can't kill 
*em? They're not only blessed with nine lives. Their lives 
are eternal. They're impervious to hell, fire and brimstone. 
You can't shoot 'em! You can't hang 'em! You can't 
drown 'em. The government should dispose of them. It's 
the duty of the government to protect its citizens against 
such a menace. 

NORMA. But, Monty, if they are impervious, as you say, 
how can the government dispose of them? 

MONTY. That's so, that's so. (Walks nervously around 
the circle.) Oh, why did Noah take those two cats into the 
ark? Lack of forethought on his part. He should have 
thought of the consequences to future generations. Now, 
Norma, just take for instance . . . 

NORMA. Please, Monty, sit down and calm yourself. Doc- 
tor Layman will soon be here. 

MONTY, What's he coming for? 

NORMA, I want him to give you something for your 
nerves. You're all unstrung about something. 

MONTY. I'm not unstrung. I'm simply talking about cats. 

NORMA. And nothing else. I've heard nothing from you 
since you got up but cats, cats, cats. If the doctor doesn't 
give you something for your nerves he'll have to give me 
something for mine. 

MONTY. Excuse me, Norma. I'll not say another word 
about cats. But, you know as well as I that cats are a 
nuisance. All night long they yodei" All day long they 
howl at the doors. They tip over the milk bottles, they . , . 
(Doorbell rings. Before NORMA can exit to answer the bell 

DOCTOR. Good morning. 

NORMA. Good morning, Doctor Layman. 

DOCTOR* What's the trouble? 

NORMA. It's Mr, Morse here. He's developing . . . 


MONTY. Cats, Doctor, cats! I don't know why she called 
you. Doctor. She should have called a veterinarian. 

DOCTOR. Please sit down, Mr. Morse. fMoNTY sits.) 
Let's see your tongue, 

MONTY. My tongue? I haven't been eating cats. 

DOCTOR. And your pulse. (Feels MONTY'S wrist.) Ah, 
it's very fast. 

MONTY. That isn't my pulse, Doctor. That's my wrist- 

DOCTOR. Every man's pulse is his wrist watch, ticking 
off the seconds of his life. 

MONTY. I won't have many seconds left if those cats . . . 

DOCTOR (Draws up a chair and sits beside Monty.) Now s 
Mr. Morse, just what is this about cats? 

MONTY, You can't kill 'em, Doc. They're impervious! 
They're . . . 

NORMA. Doctor, what do you make of it? 

DOCTOR. Nothing but a minor case of obsession, Mrs. 
Morse. The persistent and unescapable influence of some 
idea or emotion. All that is necessary to bring him out 
of it is to have some sympathetic listener hear his story. 
Now, Mr. Morse, tell us just what is on your mind. 

MONTY. Cats! 

DOCTOR. Yes, Mr. Morse, we understand that perfectly. 
But there is something behind all this some basic reason. 
What I want you to do is tell me what prompted your mind 
to start dwelling on the subject of cats. 

MONTY. I'll tell you, Doctor. We have been bothered to 
death by the neighbors' cats. Every neighbor has a cat, and 
every cat has more cats. Nothing but cats, cats, cats! (Be- 
comes excited.) 

DOCTOR. (Pats him on his knee.) Easy now, Mr. Morse. 
Go on. 

MONTY. Well, one great big black son-of-a-gun old 
enough to remember the Civil War has made camp on our 
back steps for a month, and nothing that I could do would 
induce him to vacate, move or scram. Furthermore, this 
cat had many relatives and friends that would visit him 
much too often, mostly nocturnal calls and what calls, 


Doctor, what calls! There were cats, cats, cats! (Again 
becomes excited.) 

DOCTOR (Pats MONTY'S knee.)- Yes, go on. 

MONTY, So last night. Doctor, I went to the basement 
and got a brick and a piece of rope. Then sneaking up on 
this old Methuselah I grasped him by the neck and strug- 
gled with him to the basement. I tied the rope securely 
around the cat's neck. The other end of the rope 1 tied 
around the brick. You see, everything was being done in a 
thorough manner. Then 1 filled an old washtub full of 
water. I was going to teach all the other cats a lesson. 
Doctor, did you ever step out of your back door and see 
nothing but cats, cats, CATS? 

DOCTOR (Again pats MONTY'S knee.) Never mind about 
that. Just take it easy and tell us. You tied one end of the 
rope about the cat's neck, the other end around a brick, 
and you filled a tub full of water. Then what? 

MONTY. 1 picked up the struggling animal and 1 flung 
it into the tub, (Slops.) 

DOCTOR. And then? 

MONTY, I watched it struggle for a moment. Then heart- 
lessly 1 turned away and laughed. 

DOCTOR. And then? 

MONTY. Then I came upstairs and went to bed. 

DOCTOR. And this morning you ... 

MONTY. Oh, Doctor, it was awful! (Shivers.) 

DOCTOR. You will feel better if you tell us. This morn- 

MONTY. This morning I went down to get the cat from 
the tub of water so that I could bury him, but Doctor, do 
you know what? (Excitedly.) Do you know what? 

DOCTOR. Well? 

MONTY. That darn cat had drunk up all the water and 
was sitting on top of that brick washing its face! Quick, 
a hypodermic! 

NORM.A. Why didn't you tell me, Monty? That old tub 
leaks like a sieve. 


The of 


HENRY HEMPS an amateur orator 

ROSE ' Ms wife 

JUNIOR a neighbor's little boy 


Henry is about thirty. Nicely dressed. Is a very serious 
sort of person. 

Rose, dressed nicely for street, is a pretty woman of 
about twenty-five. Contrasting to Henry, she is lively and 
full of fun. 

Junior is a boy of about eight, nicely dressed, but not 
too refined. 

SCENE: A living room. 


is standing with a typewritten sheet in his 
hand. He is looking very serious. Rose, about to leave, 
is looking at HENRY with a mischievous smile about her 

ROSE. Well, good-bye. Judge. 

HENRY. Kid me! Go ahead and kid me. (She laughs 



heartily.) You've always wanted me to become a man of 
influence and now when 1 , . 

ROSE , . . become one of the judges In the baby contest 
I laugh? Is that It, Henry? 

HENRY. You might, at least, appreciate my growing popu- 
larity in this community, Rose! 

ROSE* Excuse me, Henry, 1 didn't mean to be unappre- 
ciative. But it does amuse me to have you appointed a 
judge in a baby contest when we have no children of our 

HENRY, As far as that goes, a number of our Supreme 
Court judges have never been convicted. And my being 
appointed a judge in a baby contest when I am not the 
father of any children really goes to show that 1 was not 
selected because of experience but because of my natural 
ability as a judge. 

ROSE. Well, I'll be back in time for dinner, Henry. That 
will give you a nice long time to rehearse your speech, of 
acceptance. Or should I remain here and listen to you 

HENRY (His feelings still somewhat damaged.) Oh 5 you 
needn't mind. You wouldn't appreciate its fine points, any- 

ROSE (Going towards the exit.) Well, bye, bye Judge! 
(She exits.) 

HENRY (Snappishly.) Good-bye! ( Sighs J Now let me 
see. (Looks at the paper a moment, takes an oratorical 
pose and is about to speak. Changes his mind, steps to the 
davenport and arranges the cushions so they will represent 
Ms listeners. Steps back, clears her throat, takes a po'se 
and speaks dramatically to the cushions.) Ladies and gen- 
tlemen, fathers and mothers, it is with great pleasure that 
I accept your most kind and flattering offer, I gladly take 
upon myself the responsibility of this most pleasant task 
of judging the babies that are to be entered in the coming 
baby contest. You are all aware that I myself have no chil- 
dren yet, but I can proudly say that I know all about 
babies, having been one myself. Ha, ha, ha! (Takes a 


more serious attitude.) Babies, dear friends and parents, 
are an essential commodity. Little acorns from mighty 
oaks that is, big acorns from little . . . Our coming gen- 
eration must, therefore, depend upon the acorns babies 
of today. The generation that is ahead of us must depend 
upon the babies of the past. (Looks at the paper and 
speaks much louder.) The welfare of tomorrow depends 
upon the infants of today. But, my dear friends, the babies 
of today can also be the downfall of tomorrow that is, 
the downfall of our whole social and economic system. We 
cannot cultivate the weeds in our garden and expect to 
reap carrots and spinach. We must do away with the weeds 
in their infancy. When once the roots of obnoxious weeds 
become firmly embedded in the soil it is much more diffi- 
cult to dislodge them and give the better elements of our 
gardens an opportunity to grow and thrive. (Louder.) 
We cannot expect our babies of today to grow into use- 
ful citizens of the future unless we give them all the helpful 
and stimulating advantages at our command. And what, 
my dear friends, are the advantages? They are good health, 
good minds, and the art of thinking clearly for themselves 
in any emergency when we cast them out on the waters of 
life to float, sink or swim. And what constitutes good 
health? Nothing, my friends, but good food, plenty of ex- 
ercise, and sleep! And what are good minds? Good minds, 
my friends, are minds that quickly grasp the opportunities 
that lie about them, and if opportunities lie about them as 
much as the parents do, there'll be plenty of opportunities. 
And sleep, my dear parents, sleep is the one great and 
precious factorial asset that every baby is entitled to. Sleep, 
that their bodies and minds may grow uniformly and nat- 
urally. Sleep that the tired muscles may be regenerated, 
and the blood supply slowed down for the rest that is nec- 
essary for the coming day. (Very loudly.) Let me repeat : 
A man may go without raiment he may go without shel- 
ter he may go without food for many days, but a baby 
needs its sleep. (Yells.) Therefore, my friends, give the 
baby sleep sleep! Let nature dictate to him! Sleep! 
(Knock on the door.) 


HENRY (Sharply.) Come in! ( JUNIOR enters,) Oh, it's 
you,, Junior. Does your mother want to borrow anything? 

JUNIOR. Naw s she just wanted me to ask you to turn off 
your radio. 

HENRY. Huh? 

JUNIOR. She says It's so loud she can't get our baby to 




KENT the husband 

MARY the wile 

TILLIE her spinster sister 


Kent is about twenty-five. Nice looking and nicely 
dressed. Mary, a pretty girl of twenty-two, wearing a pretty 
house dress. TUlie, about thirty, is a typical spinster. 
Plain, tight-fitting dress, 

SCENE: Living room. KENT'S hat and topcoat are on the 



(KENT is reading a newspaper. MAHY is reading a 
book. TILLIE is knitting. Doorbell off Right rings.) 

KENT. Now what? 

MARY. Don't get up 5 Kent. I'll answer it. (Exits Right.) 

TILLIE. Humph! Another agent, I suppose. I never saw 

so many agents and peddlers in my life. I'll be glad when 

I get back home and away from these everlasting doorbells. 

They jiggle my nerves all to pieces. Getting home will be 

a relief. 



KENT. It certainly will. 

TILLIE. Beg pardon? 

KENT. Nothing, (Enter MARY with a letter.) 

TILLIE. For me? 

MARY. Special delivery letter for you, Kent. 

KENT. Me? (Takes the lelter v ) Thanks. (Opens it. 
Reads and becomes very much interested.) 

MARY. What is it, Kent? 

KENT. Nothing, dear. (Stands.) I'm going out for a 

MARY (Hurt.) All right, if you won't tell me I guess I 
can stand it. 

TILLIE. You certainly stand for more than I'd stand from 
any man, Mary. Staying single, I guess, isn't so bad, after 
all, fKENT lakes the hat and topcoat jrom the davenport.) 

MARY. You're not going to tell me, Kent? 

KENT. Why should I? 

MARY. Mean old thing! 

KENT (Dons the coat and hat. Starts to place the letter 
in a pocket of the coat, but drops it to the floor where it 
lies unnoticed.) Good-bye! (Hurries out; Right.) 

MARY (Sadly,) He might have told me where lie was 

TILLIE. Well, for heaven's sake, Mary, don't cry. Men 
like to cause women all the misery they can. They think 
it's smart. (Sees the letter lying on the floor.) Look, that's 
his letter, (Picks it up.) 1 think we have a right to know. 

MARY. Kent wouldn't want you to read it, Tillie. 

TILLIE. That doesn't mean I'm not going to read it. 
MARY. But it's private. 

TILLIE. Only while it's in the envelope. (Reads aloud.) 
"Dear Kent: Meet me at Joe's. I finally got Alice to come 
with me. She acts sometimes as though she wanted to ap- 
pear shy, but believe me, there's nothing shy about her. 
I've been wanting you two to meet for a long time, and if 
you don't fall in love with her at first sight there's some- 
thing wrong with you. You're just the sort of man that 
will appeal to her. And is she beautiful! I ask you to ask 


me. Irrisistible eyes! Hair you'll love to pat. Anyway, if 
you can sneak away, come at once. Ed." Humph! And 
that's your husband, Mary, What do you -think of that? 

MARY (Almost crying.) I can't believe it. 
^ TILLIE. That's because you're foolish. "Why, I wouldn't 
live with him another hour, 

MARY. But he's my husband. * 

TILLIE. And anybody else's sweetheart. You can't trust 
them, Mary, That's the reason I never married. 

MARY (Bursts into tears.) Whatll I do? Oh 5 whatll 
I do? 

TILLIE. Get out. Walk out on him. Show him you're not 
just a jellyfish. Show him that you have a will of your 
own. Show him that you you . . . Just pack up and get 

MARY. But, Tiffie, whereli I go? 

TILLIE. I'm your sister, am I not? Come home with me. 
Humph! (Looks at the letter.) Irresistible eyes! Wretch! 
Hair you'll love to pat! And a waist, I suppose, he'll love 
to hug. 

MARY (Stands and clenches her hands J Stop, Tillie! 
Stop! Get my bag from my room. 

TILLIE (Stands.) Now you're talking sense, Mary. I'll 
get your bag and help to pack it. (Exits Left.) 

MARY (Starts to cry. Then purses her lips and stands 
rigid.) I won't cry! I won't! Ill show him! I'll go home 
with Tillie and I'll make dates with other men, and I'll 
I'll . . . (Enter TILLIE with a bag that she drops to the 

TILLIE. Let's hurry before he gets back. The less he 
knows the more effective it will be. You can't be too cruel 
to such men. 

MARY ( Dramatically. ) I'll never come back! Never! 
Never! Never! Ill never even write to him! He'll never 
see me again! Hell never hear of me again! To him 111 
be as dead as as . . 

TILLIE. ... a herring. (Enter KENT, Right, with a Pom- 
eranian, or other small., long-haired dog beneath his arm.) 

KENT. It's for you, Mary. 


MARY. What? 

KENT. Irresistible eyes! Hair you'll love to pat. Isn't 
she a beauty? And did I fall in love with her. 
MARY. Oh, Kent, what's her name? 
KENT. It may sound coincidental, but it's Tillie. 
TIIXIE. What? 

KENT (Sees bag.) What's the bag for? 
TILLIE. I'm going home. Too many doorbells. 



ART | 

BILL S two brothers and one sister 

Lois I 

Art, Bill and Lois, are of a high school age. All are mod- 
ern young people, nicely dressed. 

SCENE: Living room, neatly furnished. Telephone on a 
small stand on one side of the stage. 


(When the curtain rises ART and BILL are facing each 
other from the opposite side of the center table or daven- 
port., scowling very belligerently.) 

ART. One more crack out o* you, big boy, and I'll . . . 

BILL. Oh, yeah? Advertising for the heavyweight cham- 
pionship, huh? 

ART. Just the same, Bill, you lay off Jane Farrel. 

BILL. Suppose you have a copyright on her, huh? 

ART. I sure have, and I don't want any infringements. 
(Enter Lois.J 



Lois. Well, for heaven's sake, Art, are you and Bill fight- 
Ing again? 

BILL. Not again yet. 

Lois. And is it Jane Farrel this time? 

ART. Who else could it be, Sis? But it's the last fight 
we're going to have over her. I'm going to wallop this big 
palooka . . . 

BILL. You're what? 

ART. Can't you understand English? You're as dumb 
here as you are in class, only more so. 

BILL. Who's dumb in class besides you? 

ART. You sit there all clay doing nothing. 

BILL. How do you know? 

ART. Because I sit there all day and watch you. And 
what a bright remark you made today. Wow! 

BILL. What remark did . . . ? 

ART. Just too dumb to know what you did in physics 
class. Miss Herman asks you to name something with only 
one foot, and you yell, "A sock!" And you think you're 
smart enough to get Jane Farrel away from me. Huh! 

BILL. What d'you mean away from you? You never 
had her. 

Lois. Please, boys, please. If Jane knew how you're 
fighting over her, she'd never speak to either of you. 

BILL. What right has this hatrack to try and stop me 
from getting a date with Jane if I want to, and can? Just 
because he took her home from that party the other night 
he thinks she's his property. Well, I'm stepping in right 
now. How d'you like that, big brother? 

Lois Well, of course, everything is fair in love and 
war . . . 

ART. There's love, all right, and there's soon going to be 
war, and there's no league of nations to settle it. I'm knee- 
deep in love with her. 

BILL. Haw-haw! Knee-deep! 
ART. You heard me- knecdeep. 

BILL. No wonder you're on her wading list. Excuse me, 
Sir Loin, but I'm calling Jane for a date right now. 


ART. I -wish I could hear what shell be calling you. To 
her you'll never play anything but second fiddle. 

BILL. I'd rather play second fiddle to her than be a 
whole orchestra to any girl 

ART. Honest, Bill, if you keep on talking I'll burst right 
out laughing. 

BILL. You won't laugh after I call her. 

ART. Okay-doke, Bill But don't blame me if you die of 
a broken heart. Go ahead and call her. You did me a 
great favor once. 

BILL. / must have been sleeping. 

ART. I'll never in all my life forget what you did for me. 

BILL. Well, what did I do? 

ART. Well, I can't think what it was right now, but ... 

BILL. Bah! (Goes to the phone.) * 

ART. Sis, this is going to be good. 

Lois. For whom? 

BILL (To the phone.) Mayfair, 2-6-9-6. (To ART.J Bet- 
ter find another girl, Art. This baby is bye-bye to you. 
(To the phone.) Hello! . . . Jane? . . . This is Ball . . . 
Bill! ... no, not gas, electric or Buffalo. Bill Carter. Lis- 
ten, Jane, how about a big date tonight? . . . I can show 
you a swell time, Jane . . . No, I don't know any other girl. 
It's you, Jane. I dream of you by night I dream of you 
by day. Your eyes, Jane like limpid pools of water. Your 
lips, Jane like rosebuds. Your hair, Jane like golden 
tress. Your feet, Jane like . . . 

ART (Loudly.) , . . submarines! 

BlLL. Shut up! (Quickly to the phone.) No, no, Jane, 
not you! Hello Jane! Hello! Hello! (Turns to find 
Lois and ART laughing heartily.) I'll . . . (Advances threat* 
eningly towards ART.J I'll . . . (Telephone rings,) 

Lois. Now be quiet. I'll answer it. (Goes to the phone.) 
Hello . . . Oh, hello, Jane. 

BILL and ART. Jane? , 

Lois (To the phone.) Yes ... Oooo! Goody! You bet 
I will, Jane. Good-bye. (Hangs up the receiver.) 

BILL and ART (Starting for the phone.) For me? 


Lois. For me. Jane wants me to come to her house this 
evening. She's having two of her boy friends there and . . . 

BILL and ART. What? 

Lois. She said some boob just called her, but she didn't 
get his name* 

ART. Bill, let's go to a show, 

BILL. No* I'm going to my lab' and take some strychnine. 





> on their honeymoon 

SAM the bellhop 

COSTUMES: Modern. 

SCENE: A hotel room. A simple living room setting will 
answer the purpose. 


(JACK is standing with an arm about BABS. A few 
feet away stands SAM, grinning broadly as he fingers 
the money in his hand.) 

JACK (To SAM..) And you'll do that for us, Mr. er . . . ? 

SAM (Grinning.) Dey calls me Sam foh short, sah. 

JACK. Well, Sam, perhaps if you do a good job of keep- 
ing your mouth shut there'll be another two dollars for 
you when we leave. 

SAM. Yes, sah, yes, sah. I keeps shet a'right. All I does 
am say nuffin' 5 an 9 I doan say dat very loud, sah. No, sah, 



1 (loan say nuflin' 'bout you an' de lady jest bein' married, 

JACK, That's the boy, Sam. Mrs. Firman here is quite 
sensitive and she doesn't like to be pointed out as a a 

SAM. She doan need worryfy none 'bout me tellin' no- 
body in dis hotel dat you'ns am jest married. I jest natch- 
erly doan know nuffin' 'bout it. 

BABS, That's exactly it, Sam, and perhaps well, per- 
haps if you are a very good Jboy I'll be able to find an- 
other dollar for you, also. 

SAM. Golly, Miss, I sho' kin be pow'ful good fob a 
dollah. When Fs home Fs good foh nuffin'. 

JACK. All right, Sam, now run along and don't let any- 
body know that we're on our honeymoon. 

SAM. Trust me, boss. Some day mebbe I'll go on a 
honeymoon, too. You isn't de fust "jest marrieds" dat's 
been hcah. 'Cose you can't fool me. I spots 'em like a 
seben on a gallopin' dice soon's dey comes in de hotel, 
but . . . (Looks at the money in his hands.) . . . when dey's 
s'ficient fie-nances Fs shet tighter den a streetcah window. 
(Grins and exits.) 

JACK. And now for some cigarettes and a little exercise. 

BABS. Let me go, Jack dear. I want a magazine. 

JACK. You rest. I'll get you a magazine. 

BABS. But I don't know what I want until I look them 
over. I'll go and while I'm there I'll get your cigarettes. 

JACK. 0. K., Babs. Your mother told me before we left 
that I shouldn't argue with you. 

BABS. We'll never argue, will we, dear? (Places her 
arms about his neck.) 

JACK. I should say not. We'll never argue. We may dis- 
cuss things, but we'll never argue. Now run along, and 
while you're gone you might get me a little exercise. 

BABS (Kisses him.) You won't be lonesome while I'm 
away, will you? 

JACK. Be sure and write. 

BABS. Oh, isn't love wonderful! Jack, do you still love 


JACK, I'll love you forever and ever! 

BABS. Ah, men! (Laughs and skips out. JACK smiles 
happily, sighs and sits. Enter BABS, looking worried.) 

BABS. Jack! 

JACK (Leaps to his feet.) Babs! What's happened? 

BABS. Jack, I started down the hall and everybody 
everybody stared at me. 

JACK. They stared at you? Why? 

BABS. I don't know. They made me ieel guilty of some- 
thing. They just looked and looked as if I had done some- 
thing awful committed murder or something. Do you 
think Sam . . . ? 

JACK. I hardly think so, but of course we don't know 
anything about that bellhop. His mouth takes up a lot of 
his face. 

BABS. I bet he 1 told everybody we were just married. 

JACK (Goes to the phone.) Hello! Hello! Room 311, 
Could you please send Sam up at once? . . . Thank you. 
(Turns. to BAssJ Well soon find out. If he has broad- 
cast . . . 

BABS. No, don't do that, Jack." He's just a boy. 

JACK. Well, anyway, I can scare him so he'll not embar- 
rass another newly married couple. I'll tell him plenty, and 
then we can go to another hotel. 

BABS. But, Jack, they'll charge you for this room, any- 
way, and that's about twelve dollars. Maybe I'm too sensi- 
tive, anyway. (Knock on the door.) 

JACK (Roughly.) Come in! (Enter SAM.) 

SAM. Yes, sah, Mistah Firman? 

JACK. Sam, did you go right out of this room and tell 
everybody that we were just married? 

SAM. No, sah, Mistah Firman, no sah, I didn't tell no- 
body nuffin' 'bout you jest bein' married, no, sah. 

JACK. Are you sure that you didn't say a thing about 
our being married and on our honeymoon? 

SAM. Hones 5 goodness, boss, I didn't said nuffin 5 'bout 
you bein' married. Fac 9 am, boss, 1 done do you a favor, 
yes, sah. 

JACK. What do you mean, you did us a favor? 


SAM. Why, Mistah Firman, I knows right off dat It 
wouldn't be right foh nobody to know dat you was jest 
married, so 1 jest clinches de whole thing an' makes sure 
by tellin' evahbody dat you two wasn't married a-tall. 
I'BABS falls limply into JACK'S arms. He grits his teeth,) 



TOM who was a boy once, too 

JUNE Ms wife 

AUNT EMMA June's maiden aunt 


Tom and June are about twenty-seven and twenty-four, 
respectively* Both nicely dressed. Aunt Emma is a typical 
spinster and dressed to accentuate the part. 

SCENE: Comfortable living room. 


(ToM is sprawled lazily in a chair reading a paper. 

Enter JUNE with a piece of mail) 

TOM (Looks up.) Any mail, June? 
JUNE (Tosses the mail on the table.) Nothing but an ad. 
TOM. That's better than nothing but a dun. No further 
word from your Aunt Emma? 

JUNE. No, Tom. I was positive she would write again 
before she arrived. She wasn't very explicit in her other 



TOM. Well, we'll have to take her at her word and ex- 
pect her here this morning. Where's the letter you got 
from her yesterday? 

JUNE. Here. (Takes the letter from the book on the 
table. Hands it to TQM.,) You already know what's in it. 

TOM. Just to be sure we have things straight. (Looks 
at the letter.) Writes like a man, doesn't she? 

JUNE. I'd advise you to say nothing like that in her 
presence. She's a man-hater. 

TOM. Most women are that have never been proposed to, 

JUNE. Now, Torn, don't say mean things about my aunt. 

TOM. I'm just kidding, June. 

JUNE. Read that part again where she says she is com- 
ing with Dicky. 

TOM. A, man-hater, huh? Dicky is no feminine name. 

JUNE. Please read! 

TOM (Reading letter.) "And now for the important news, 
June. I will arrive at your place Tuesday morning ..." 

JUNE. This is Tuesday morning. 

TOM. If there is no opposition to that remark I'll pro- 

JUNE. Proceed. 

TOM (Reading.) "I will arrive at your place Tuesday 
morning with Dicky. And, June, how you'll love him. He's 
a darling. So young and cunning." Well, June, that's that. 
What do you make of it? 

JUNE. Why ask me? You're as good at guessing as I. 

TOM. Your aunt is a er . . . 

JUNE (Laughs.) Say it, Tom, say it. Aunt Emma is an 
old maid. 

TOM. Spinster or bachelor girl might sound better. And 
now about this boy, Dicky. Where does he come in? 

JUNE. Well, you know, I told you when I saw Aunt Em- 
ma three years ago that she was threatening to adopt a 
boy from the orphan home. She must have carried out 
that threat. Anyway, it appears that she thinks the world 
of this Dicky* The only thing, Tom, is that that . . . 

TOM, Yes, now you say it, June, say it. Your Aunt Em- 


ma has a lot of money and now that she has adopted a boy 
our name Is mud in her will, eh? 

JUNE. Well, of course, nothing was ever said about us 
being named as heirs. We just took it for granted. 

TOM. It wouldn't hurt us any to make a big showing of 
hospitality. She might be inveigled into leaving us a little 
slice, and I presume the best way to make a favorable im- 
pression is to rave over -Dicky. 

JUNE. How about those things I told you to get? 

TOM. I have them all ready to put on display. 

JUNE. Then you had better get them on display. She's 
liable to pop in here any minute now. 

TOM (Stands.) 0. K. Here goes Santa Glaus. (Exits. 
Then calls from offstage.) Should I call her Aunt Emma? 

JUNE. Why, of course, Tom. 

TOM. I was just wondering. If she's a man-hater I 
can't take any chances. 

JUNE. But hurry with those toys before she does come. 

TOM. I'm coming. (Enters with a toy train, some build- 
ing blocks, a big rubber ball and toy horn.) If these things 
don't please the kid, there's something wrong with the new 

JUNE. They should please him. Richard, no doubt, is 
like any other boy. (ToM sits on, the floor with the toys.) 
What are you . . . ? 

TOM. Going to build something so it'll look as though 
we were counting a lot on his coming. Tact and diplomacy, 
I call it. " (Piles the blocks.) Look, June, this is the rail- 
road station. It takes me back a few years. And here, this 
is a taxi that's trying to get to the station to meet the train. 
(Runs the ball toward the station as he loudly blows the 
horn.) Come on, boy, step on it! (Blows the horn.) Ding- 
dong! June, the train's pulling out! Taxi isn't going to 
make it! (Blows the horn.) Hear him come, June! Ding- 
dong! (Blows the horn.) 

JUNE. Sh! Tom, was that the bell? 

TOM. Sure, train pulling out. 

JUNE. I mean the doorbell (Doorbell offstage rings.) 
Tom! It is the bell! 


TOM. I didn't hear a thing. (Blows the horn.) Come 
on, taxi! Step on It! DIngdong! (Toots the horn enthu- 
siastically. AUNT EMMA appears in the doorway with a 
birdcage in which is a canary. She is staring at TOM who 
does not see her.) 

JUNE. Aunt Emma! (Runs to her.) 

AUNT EMMA. No one answered the bell so I walked in. 
(Nods her head to TOM who is staring at her.) Is he all 
right in the head? 

JUNE (Laughs heartily.) Oh, Aunt Emma! He's all 
ready to play with Richard. 

AUNT EMMA. Richard? 

JUNE. Yes, Dicky. Where is Dicky? 

AUNT EMMA (Holds up the bird cage.) This is Dicky. 
fJUNE bursts into laughter. TOM draws back his foot and 
kicks over the railroad station.) 


He Never 


GRACE RITTER the girl 

CECIL CADD the boy 

DADDY RITTER Grace's father 


Grace is a pretty girl of nineteen or twenty. Cecil is a 
typical sissy. Very foppish. Dressed immaculately. Ego- 
tistical. Daddy is a pleasant, middle-aged man, fairly well 

SCENE: Living room. May be played in a parlor, 



(CECIL, apparently very well satisfied with himself, is 
seated on the davenport. DADDY is standing in front of 
him, hands in, his pockets. He appears to be somewhat 
amused as there is a half smile on his face.) 

DADDY. Then, Mr. Cadd, as I understand it, you are de- 
sirous of marrying my daughter? Am I right? 

CECIL. Yes, sir, Mr. Ritter. If I make mention of it my- 
self, sir, I do not think she could do better. 



DADDY. In other words, If Grace should marry you she 
would at once be transported to a sort of Utopia? 

CECIL* Yes, sir, you might put it that way, for I'm al- 
ready convinced that Gracy would be the happiest girl in 
the world if she were mine. 

DADDY. 1 admire your confidence, my boy. 1 surely do. 
But tell me, how has this affair progressed so far without 
my ever seeing you here? 

CECIL. Well, we have met a number of times, sir. 

DADDY. And you and Grace have come to an agreeable 
understanding in this matter? 

CECIL. Well, I can hardly go so far as to say that, Mr. 
Ritter. I haven't definitely mentioned marriage to Gracy, 
but I look for no objection on her part. 

DADDY. Mr. Cadd, 1 reiterate if I may use the word 

CECIL (Condescendingly.) You may use the word. 

DADDY. Thank you so much. As I said, I reiterate when 
I say that 1 admire your confidence. Grace has always 
been her own boss- that is, in most matters, and I wouldn't 
think of going against her wishes at this late date* 

CECIL. Then, sir, 1 have your parental consent to pro- 
ceed with any necessary arrangements for our marriage? 

DADDY. My boy, your self-confidence is beyond compre- 
hension to one such as L 

CECIL. I am glad, Mr. Ritter, that you recognize that 
rare and valuable quality, and what it will mean to your 

DADDY (Registers extreme seriousness.) There is one 
thing, however, Mr. Cadd. You have not as yet mentioned 
your intentions to my daughter, and perhaps it would be 
well that she be given some hint of what you intend to do, 
To have this happiness heaped upon her without warning 
may be somewhat detrimental to her well being. And then 
again, Grace may wish to make a few suggestions regard- 
ing the trousseau, the selection of her silverware, and so on. 

CECIL. 1 must have time to think it over, sir, but I be- 
lieve I can make such a concession. 

DADDY. You are very kind. Now there is one stipula- 
tion that I would like to make. 


CECIL. I will consider any stipulation you might find 
advisable to make, Mr. Ritter. 

DADDY. It is this. I am not as young as I used to be. In 
a few years it is my earnest desire to retire, and I want my 
son-in-law to 'Continue my business. I cannot let it die with 

CECIL. In other words, sir . . . 

DADDY. In other words, any man that marries my daugh- 
ter must become my partner in business. I will send Grace 
to you at once. Good night. (Turns abruptly and ap- 
proaches the exit.) 

CECIL. And Mr. Ritter. 

DADDY (Stops.) Yes? 

CECIL. Tell Gracy there is a pleasant surprise awaiting 

DADDY. I will. (Laughs heartily and exits.) 

CECIL (Carefully brushes back his hair, and spends a 
few moment primping. Enter GRACE J 

GRACE. Good evening, Cecil. 

CECIL (Stands and bows.) Gracy, you look delightfully 
charming this evening. 

GRACE. Thank you, Cecil. (Sits on the davenport,) 
Please sit down. 

CECIL. - Thank you. Gracy, I j ust spoke to your father 
about our marriage. 

GRACE (Registering surprise.) About about our mar- 

CECIL. Why, yes. Hadn't you thought of it? 

GRACE (Not showing much enthusiasm.) I had not. 
Daddy said there was a pleasant surprise in store for me. 

CECIL. Don't you think getting married to me would be 
a pleasant surprise? 

GRACE, Well, it would be a surprise, all right. And 
Daddy really said that I could marry you? 

CECIL. Not only that, Gracy, but he insisted that as soon 
as we were married that I go into partnership with him. 

GRACE (Suppressing smile.) He did, really? 

CECIL. He did. I consider your father a man of extreme 
far-sightedness. He at once perceived in me that rare qual- 


Ity of leadership necessary to the success of any business. 

He offered absolutely no objections to our marriage. But 
I did not anticipate any, for there are none. 

GRACE. As soon as you marry me you are to become 
his partner? 

CECIL. Exactly, Gracy, exactly. 

GRACE. But wasn't he reluctant about placing any re- 
sponsibilities upon you when you know nothing of his 

CECIL. He didn't seem to. He saw only my inborn tal- 
ent . . . 

GRACE. He, of course, informed you what his business 

CECIL. No, we didn't go into that. With my intelligence 
1 could . . . 

GRACE. Really, Mr. Cadd, before proceeding further it 
might be well that you understand perfectly just what my 
father is so that when you become his partner you will 
understand what's expected of you. 

CECIL, Oh, well, what is your father? 

GRACE. A professional parachute jumper. (CECIL, slides 
from the davenport and heads for the exit, GRACE laughs.) 




HIRAM SLATTERLEY . just a hick 

MARTHA his wife 

JOE CRANE.... representing the Affiliated Highway Barbecues 
EDWARD HOWE the association's appraiser 

SCENE: Simple but neat and comfortable living room. 


( HIRAM is pacing nervously back and forth. MARTHA 
is seated, reading or knitting,) 

HIRAM. I tell you, Martha . . . 

MARTHA. For heaven's sake, Hiram, cool down. Just 
because a couple of city men call you a hick . . . 

HlRAM. But we're not hicks any more than any other 
farmer these days. We take our daily newspaper. ^We have 
our radio. We have a car. We "have our children in school, 
and one in college. It makes me hot under the collar, Mar- 
tha, to have some slinky-eyed, oily-haired city boob come 
out here and call us hicks. 

MARTHA. Well, you admitted they didn't call you a nick 
to your face, didn't you? 

HIBAM. Well, even so, it doesn't go down very good. I 
was standing there at the post office when I heard these two 



men talking about how easy the hicks around here looked. 
They didn't notice me. And I'll be dog-goned if they didn't 
mention my name. 

MARTHA. Your name? 

HIRAM, Yes, siree, Martha, my name. One of them said 
he'd looked about these parts the week before and decided 
Hiram Slatlcrley looked like good meal to him. Good meat, 
Martha! Do I look like a ham or a pork chop? 

MARTHA. What did they mean? 

HIRAM. That's what 1 was wondering, too, so I circled 
around and a little later I walked up to them and passed 
the time sort of dumb like, and acted like I was interested 
In their coming to our section of the country. Then I intro- 
duced myself sort of nonchalantly, and oh, say, I got a 
letter from our Larry. 

MARTHA. What did he say? Did he pass his final chem- 
istry examination? Just what day will college close, and 
when will he be home? 

HiRAM, Is that all you want to know? I haven't had a 
chance to open the letter yet. Sh! Listen! There's a car 
driving in. Quick, Martha, you step out of here, and don't 
come back till I call you. 

MARTHA, But . . . 

HiRAM. No buts, Martha, and don't pay any attention to 
what I do. I'm going to be a regular hick for a while. Now 
get out quick. (Pushes her off Left, she trying to protest. 
Knock on the door, Right.) Come in ! (Enter JOE and ED, 

JOE. Hello, Mr. Slatterley! 

HiRAM. Well, gosh-burn, howdy! I reckoned as how 
you'ns be drivm' down this-a-way. Come right in, Mr. 
Crane. You, too, Mr. Howe. Come right in an' make your- 
self at hum. 

JOE. Thanks, Mr. Slatterley. By the way, just call me 
Joe and call him Ed. 

HIRAM. Dinged if I won't. You'ns call me Hiram. Might 
as well be neighborly. Sit down. (They sit.) 

JOE. I presume you have thought over the proposition 
we spoke of this morning? 


HIRAM. Yep, but I ain't had much chance to speak to 
Marthy 'bout it. Now lemme see, you was repersentin' what 
was it? ; J j ,i 

JOE. I am representing the Affiliated Highway Barbe- 
cues, and Ed 'here is their official appraiser. By opening 
these barbecues along the principal highways under one 
head they can be made to pay, and we are in a position to 
offer the farmers better prices for their land. Now you 
have an ideal location for such a stand. You offered us 
your farm this morning for seven thousand dollars. 

HIRAM. Yep, that's right. Reckon when Larry gits home 
from college an 5 is a fust class chemist he won't keer to 
stay here no-how. Reckon you'd like to go over the farm? 

ED. There isn't any use of doing that. In driving past a 
few of your fields I feel safe in saying that there is no ques- 
tion as to its value to us. v 

JOE. Now, Hiram, you no doubt understand that we can- 
not pay you the entire seven thousand dollars today, or 
until it "is 0. K'd by the board of directors. However, we 
can give you five hundred dollars for an option on the 

HIRAM. I ain't 'zactly up on them option things. 

JOE. It is simply a paper that you and your wife sign 
that says we may buy the land whenever we please at the 
price mentioned. We give you five hundred dollars to bind 
the bargain, and then, of course, you cannot sell it to any- 
one else. 

HIRAM. Gosh, that's fair 'nough. 'Scuse me a minute till 
I call the old woman. (Exits Right. JOE and ED look at 
each other and laugh.) 

JOE. It's like talcing candy from a baby. 

ED. Now let's get this straight quick, Joe. We get an 
option for five hundred dollars. Then a little later we 
dump a few barrels of oil on his land, and he thinks there's 
a fortune in oil if he can get the land back. But we don't 
let him have it back unless he comes across with two or 
three thousand dollars. 

JOE. That's it in a nutshell. If he wants the option can- 
celed he pays us plenty. But we have to work fast. He said 


Ms kid was coming home from college in a week or so, 
arid if lie's a full-Hedged chemist, why he'll . . . (Enter 
HIRAM and MARTHA, Left.) 
^ HIRAM. This _ is Marlliy, fellers. Marlhy, this is Mr. 

Crane an 5 Mr, Howe. 

MARTHA. How do you do? (ED and JOE stand and bow 

HIRAM. Marlhy says as how she's purty busy, so inchbe 
we teller be a-gcttin' tilings iixed up right smart. (MARTHA 
looks at HIRAM somewhat bewildered.) You fellers, I reck- 
on, is got the five hundred dollars with you? 

JOE. Oh, certainly, Hiram. Also, the option is all made 

MARTHA. Hiram, just what are you doing? 

HlRAM. Now you just hush up, Marlhy. Fin gcttin' to 
be a reg'lar big business man, I am. fJoE and ED wink at 
each other.) Full your chairs right op to the table, fellers, 
and Marthy, you git that bottle o' ink an 3 that pen over 

ED. 1 have a fountain pen here. 

HIRAM. Not fcr me, Ed. I ain't never got used to them 
new fangled things. Ain't none too good with the old styled 
pen. ("MARTHA places the ink and pen on the table.) 

JOE (As he and ED go lo the table.) Here's the option, 
(Lays paper on the table.) All you have to do Is to sign 
it. Mr. Slattcrlcy here, and Mrs, Slallerley directly beneath. 

HIRAM. Jest lo show you fellers I ain't no easy mark 1 
don't sign nothin' till I gits the five hundred dollars. 

JOE (Laughs.) I don't blame you, Hiram. One can tell 
you're ^ too smart to be gold-bricked. (Another wink at 
ED.J Here's the five hundred. (Lays the bills on the table.) 

MARTHA. Hiram Slatlerley, just what does all this mean? 

HlRAM. Tut, lut, Marthy, tut-tut. Gimme that pen. 
(Takes pen, dips it carefully in the ink and writes. Hands 
pen to MARTHA.^ Right; under mine, Martha. (She hesi- 
tates, then signs.) There ye be, fellers. There's your option, 
or whatever you calls it. 

JOE. Now you understand, Mr. Slalterley, we can have 

-'. *?.- WHO'S A HICK? 49 

possession of the property at any time by paying the bal- 
ance of the seven thousand dollars. 

HIRAM. Yep, that's right. 

JOE (Shakes HIRAM'S hand.) Good-bye, Hiram, Pretty 
easy, wasn't it? 

ED (Shakes HIRAM'S hand.) There's a lot of easy ways 
to make money, aren't there? 

HIRAM. Yep 5 more than most people know 'bout, says I. 
Good-bye. (Exeunt JOE and ED, Right.) 

MARTHA. Now, Hiram Slatterley, what does all this tom- 
foolery mean? 

HIRAM. It means, Martha, that a hick isn't as dumi| as 
he looks. Look at this, would you? (Holds up money.) 
Five hundred dollars! 

MARTHA. But they have an option on the farm. 

HlRAM. They just think they have. They didn't know 
that I knew all about their scheme. Come .here and try to 
flim-flam me! Come here and get an option on this land, 
and then later pour oil on it so I'll be crazy enough to pay 
them three thousand dollars to get my option canceled. 
Imagine that! 

MARTHA. But, Hiram, we did sign the option, didn't we? 

HIRAM. Sure, we did, but that won't do them any good. 
We used that ink that Larry made up in chemistry class. 
It's what he calls disappearing ink. In five or six hours 
there won't be a scratch of our names on that option. When 
they open up that paper tomorrow they'll find nothing but 
the dotted lines. 



MRS. WANTROCKS with social ambitions 

EVELYN her daughter, with similar ambitions 

JUNIOR too young for ambitions 

HOMEK HOLTEN a good catch 


Mrs. Waulrocks is about forty-five years old and is a 

type of woman who is ambitious to climb the social ladder, 
but cannot quile make the grade. Evelyn is a daughter alter 
her mother's heart. Rather pretty, but somewhat petulant. 
Junior is just an ordinary boy of ten who, no doubt, takes 
after his father more than his mother. He is nicely dressed. 
Homer is about twenty-four, and is immaculately attired. 

SCENE: Living room. Entrances Left and Right stage. 


(EVELYN and JUNIOR are on the stage. EVELYN is giv- 
ing JUNIOR instructions and emphatically shaking her 
finger in his face.) 

EVELYN. For once in your life. Junior Wantrocks, 1 

want you to behave yourself when Mr. Holton conies, 
JUNIOR. Oh, sure, Sis, 1 will 



EVELYN. That's what you always promise, '"but when 
somebody calls to see me you're always on hand to make 
some very embarrassing remark. If I had my way, you'd 
go to bed now, 

JUNIOR. It isn't my bedtime. 

EVELYN. Then please sit down and be quiet. 

JUNIOR (Holds out his hand.) How about a dime? 

EVELYN. I don't happen to have a dime. But if you 
promise to be quiet, and keep your promise, I'll give you 
fifteen cents when I do get some money. 

JUNIOR. That's what Dad calls dealing in futures and it's 
a burn way of doing business. 

EVELYN. You'll get your fifteen cents. 

JUNIOR. 0. K., Sis, I'll keep quiet. (Plumps down in 
deep chair with a book. Enter MRS. WANTROCKS, Left.) 

EVELYN. What time is it, Mother? 

MRS. WANTROCKS. Nearly eight o'clock. 

EVELYN. Is Daddy home yet? 

MRS. WANTROCKS. Why, no, Evelyn. He wasn't to meet 
that man until eight-thirty. Oh, how I hope he sells that 
property. It will mean a commission to him of two hun- 
dred dollars, and we certainly need it. 

EVELYN. Nearly eight. Mr. Holten ought to be here 

MRS. WANTROCKS. Yes, he should. And how I do hope 
you'll do your utmost to get him to propose to you, 
Evelyn. Wouldn't it be just too wonderful for you to be 
the wife of Homer Holten! Just think of the social influ- 
ence it would ' bring to us. 

EVELYN. It may not be so easy to marry a million dol- 

MRS. WANTROCKS. The only way to impress a man of 
his financial standing is to talk his language. Talk big 
money, big plans ... 

JUNIOR. Sis, can't even talk a dime. She's always deal- 
ing in futures. 

MRS. WANTROCKS. Junior, if you don't keep quiet I'll 
send you to bed at once. If your sister should happen to 
marry Mr. Holton we'd all have plenty of dimes. So don't 

spoil everything with your childish prattle. And, Evelyn, 
1 believe It will be a good Idea for me to do most of the 
talking when Mr. Hollon first arrives. 1 am, older than 
you, and understand how . . . 

JUNIOR . . . to talk big money. 


JUNIOR. 0. K, (Doorbell rings off Right.) 

MRS, WANTROCKS. Shh! Junior, answer the door. 

JUNIOR. 0. K. Sis, don't forget that fifteen cents. (Exits 

EVELYN. Oh, Mother, I'm so nervous. 

MRS. WANTROCKS. Don't show it, for heaven's sake. You 
must give him the impression that receiving marriage pro- 
posals Is a common thing with you. You might talk about 
some of the proposals you've had from men high in, society. 
(Enter JUNIOR and HOMER, Right.) 

JUNIOR. It's Mr. Holten, Ma Mother. 

MRS. WANTROCKS (Advances to HOMER with outstretched 
hand.) So glad, I assure you, Mr. Holten. 

HOMER (Accepts her hand and bows graciously.) Thank 
you, Mrs. Wantrocks. It is a pleasure to call, I assure you. 
(Turns to EVELYN J You look charming, Miss Wantrocks. 

EVELYN. Thank you. 

HOMER. I parked my car on the left side of the street. 
(Smiles.) No danger of mixing with the police, is there? 

MRS. WANTROCKS. Oh, dear, no, Mr. Holten. Mr. Want- 
rocks is so influential politically, no one would dare to 
object. Won't you sit down? 

HOMER. Thank you. (Sits as he motions EVELYN to do 

MRS. WANTROCKS. I was in hopes you could meet Mr. 
Wantrocks this evening, but he had already made an en- 
gagement to look over a new car he is thinking of buying. 

JUNIOR (Sits up with interest.) Huh? (Receives a warn* 
ing sign from EVELYN J 0. K. (Settles back in the chair.) 

HOMER. There are some beautiful cars on the market 
this season. 

MRS. WANTROCKS. Yes ? but so many cheap cars, don't 
you think, Mr. Holten? (Sits beside HOMER J And of 


course Mr. Wantrocks Isn't interested in those at all. He 
mentioned something at dinner this evening about a car 
that appeals to him very strongly, and the price, I believe, 
was six thousand dollars. 

HOMER (Smiles.) Such a car ought to appeal to most 

MRS. WANTROCKS. But, you know, Mr. Holten, one must 
keep a sensible balance. Mr. Wantrocks thinks that one's 
car should be consistent with one's income. I wouldn't be 
a bit surprised if he should drive the new car home this 

JUNIOR. If he does buy the car, Ma, will that funny little 
man call every month like he did when you bought your 
vacuum cleaner? ( EVELYN and MRS. WANTROCKS nearly 
faint. HOMER suppresses a smile.) 



HAROLD who wants lo step out with Elsie 

ELSIE , who has lo stay home 

CAPTAIN SWARTZ of the detective squad 


Elsie Is a pretty girl of eighteen, nicely dressed. Harold 
is a rather boastful youth of twenty, nicely 'dressed, and 
wearing a fake detective badge. Captain Swartz, a plain 
clothes detective, is about thirty. Is polite but stern, and 
rather hard-boiled. Has a badge on his vest. 

SCENE: Living 


(ELSIE end HAROLD are standing near Center, HAROLD 
has just arrived and is still holding his hat in his hand.) 

HAROLD. Aw, come on, Elsie. It's too big a night to stay 
inside. Let's ride, or dance, or sec a show, or well some- 

ELSIE, It can't be done, Harold. Daddy said before he 
left that he didn't want me to step outside the house tonight. 



HAROLD. But, Elsie, that's all hooey about Scarlip Moran 
being in the neighborhood. Where'd you get that news? 

ELSIE. Daddy heard about it. He said the police have 
a a dragnet out, I guess, and they have him cornered 
somewhere in the neighborhood, and there's liable to be 
some shooting. That Scarlip is an awfully bad man. 

HAROLD. Just because he's listed as public enemy Num- 
ber One everybody's scared of him. But I'm telling you 
this, Elsie, all those birds are yellow when they meet up 
with regular he-rnen As for me huh! I wouldn't be 
afraid to meet any of them. 

ELSIE. Sit down, Harold. I can't go out, so we might 
as well make the best of it. Even if Daddy hadn't forbid- 
den me, I wouldn't think of going out. It makes me shud- 
dery just to think of meeting Scarlip Moran. Harold, what 
if he would try to come in here? 

HAROLD. Well, as far as I'm concerned, I wouldn't mind 
having him do it. That way I could show him up and prove 
to you what I said about them being yeEow. But if your 
dad says you can't go out, I'm not the one to say you can. 
(Hands his hat to ELSIE and drops onto the davenport.) 
But I sure did want to take you for a ride. It's the new 
car, Elsie, and what a honey! I can cut circles all around 
the old bus with it. It'll make ninety like nobody's busi- 

ELSIE (Lays the hat on the table and sits beside him.) 
What good is all that speed, Harold? They're arresting 
them for doing over fifty. 

HAROLD. Not me, they're not. I can make my ninety 
any time and get away with It. 

ELSIE. How? 

HAROLD. Like this. (Throws back his coat, displays a 
fake detective badge.) 

ELSIE. Harold, where did you get that? 

HAROLD. Swiped it off my kid brother. 

ELSIE. Is it a real police badge? 

HAROLD. No, but it fools 'em. When a cop stops me I 
just flash the badge and presto, he salutes, and I'm off. 
Easy, huh? 

ELSIE. Some time you'll get In trouble, Harold. 

HAROLD. I'm too smart for 'cm. Three times today I 
was stopped, and believe it or not, 1 worked this game 
successfully each lime. 

ELSIE, But It isn't right to do it, is it? 

HAROLD. There are a lot of things that people do that 
aren't right, but they do them, anyway. 

ELSIE. What if . . . ? (Startled.) What was that noise? 

HAROLD. I didn't hear anything. 

ELSIE. 1 thought 1 heard . , . (Forces laugh.) I must be 
nervous thinking of Scaiilp Moran. 

HAROLD. Elsie, I wish you would remember that I am 
sitting beside you. Of course, I realize that girls don't 
have the steel nerves that we men have, but you shouldn't 
be nervous when I'm around. If worst comes to worst and 
the government eannot do anything with these gangsters 
I'll offer my services to the government. Ah! Then give 
me a squad of men just a little squad and gangland will 
be history. 

ELSIE, Oh, Harold, you have so much confidence. And 
when you do get on the regular force you would have a 
real badge, wouldn't you? 

HAROLD. A real badge doesn't mean so much. It's the 
brave heart that beats beneath the badge that counts. If 
Scarlip Moran should enter this room now . . . ("CAPTAIN 
SWARTZ steps quietly into the room unseen by the two.) 

SWARTZ (In a gruff voice.) Pardon me. ^ELSIE screams. 
HAROLD is petrified with fear and afraid to look around,) 

ELSIE. What what do you want? 

SWARTZ. Don't be alarmed, lady, and pardon my intru- 
sion. I am Captain Swartz of the Detective Bureau. 

HAROLD (Emits a bi^ sigh of relief. Then stands with 
regained confidence.) Good evening, Captain Swartz. Any- 
thing I can do for you? 

SWARTZ. Yes. You may tell me whose car that is out 
front parked without lights. 

HAROLD. That is my car, Captain, 

SWARTZ. Perhaps you can tell me why you're not obey- 
ing the law about lights on a parked car? 


HAROLD. Oh, that's easy. (Pulls back his coat s flashing 
the badge.) 

SWARTZ. I see. Pardon me for reminding you of the 
car. (Aside HAROLD winks at ELSIE.J I'm certainly glad 
you flashed the badge, my boy. 

HAROLD. I thought you would be. 

SWARTZ. Yes, 1 am. We're rounding up every available 
officer of the law. We have Scarlip Moran bagged within 
this block and expect to jump him any minute. You may 
consider yourself deputized. 

HAROLD (Aglutsi.) But but . . . 

SWARTZ (Sternly.) Come on ? step on it I Get your gun 
ready; you'll need it. (Goes towards the exit.) Did you 
hear me? Come on! ("HAROLD follows with legs that are 
very weak and wobbly.) 



> married fifty years 



MARY,..,. , .-.their granddaughter 


Henry and Anna are In their early seventies. They are 
clean-cut, well-preserved elderly folks. Mary is a Iively 3 
pretty girl of about twenty years, nicely dressed. 

SCENE: Living room. 


(Enter MARY, dancing happily between HENRY and 
ANNA, whose hands she is holding.) 

ANNA. Hold on, Mary, hold on. A little slower. We're 
not as young as we used to be. 

HENRY. Feel kin da pert myself today, Anna. (Starts to 
skip and gets a rheumatic pain in his leg.) Ouch! 

ANNA. Henry, will you ever be your age? 

MARY (Laughs heartily.) Now, Gran'ma, and Gran'pa, 1 
want you both to sit right on that davenport and talk 
over old times. This is your golden wedding anniversary 



and it ought to be a lot of fun going back fifty years. 
Reminiscence is good for the soul. Now you just sit down 
and play sweethearts again. * 

ANNA (Sits.) Mary, you haven't said yet where Jane 
and Tom are. 

MARY. Gran'ma, your heart is strong, but perhaps I'd 
better prepare and forewarn you. Mother and Dad are out 
rounding up some of the family for a party In your honor 
this afternoon. 

HENRY. A party, Anna, just like fifty years ago when 
we got married. Remember how all the young folks 

ANNA. My, my, Henry . . . (Dabs her eyes with a "ker- 
chief.) ... we were happy then, weren't we? 

HENRY. Not a blame bit happier'n we are now, Anna. 
(There is a, bit of sadness in his voice.) 

MARY. Here, stop that! We're all trying to make this 
a hey-dey of merriment, and you two turn on the water- 
works. Now, Gran'pa, you sit right down before I become 
- very, very angry. 

HENRY. Reckon mebbe I'd better, if that's the case. 
(Sits beside ANNA.^ 

MARY. Now you two just stay put and make love all over 
again. I'll be seeing you. (Dances out.) 

HENRY. Gosh! Anna,* it seems a mighty long time since 
we were that young, doesn't it? 

ANNA. Oh, I don't know, Henry. Seems to me like these 
fifty years have slid by pretty fast. 

HENRY. Reckon you're right, Anna. 

ANNA. Do you remember the first day we were married, 
Henry, I baked you a black walnut cake? 

HENRY. Will I ever forget it! 

ANNA. And this is the first .anniversary that I haven't 
baked you a black walnut cake. 

HENRY. You wouldn't have missed it this time, Anna, if 
Mary hadn't insisted that we take it easy. 

ANNA. Married fifty years, and every anniversary I 
baked you a black walnut cake. 

HENRY (Pats her hand.) Anna, I look back on those 
black walnut cakes as milestones In my life. 


ANNA. And lo Lhink that you nearly married my twin 
sister ahead of me. 

HENRY, It was a sort of toss-up between you and Sarah, 
wasn't it? 

ANNA. You never did tell me, Henry, why you selected 
me instead of Sarah. 

HENRY. It always was sort of a foolish thing to talk 
about, Anna. I guess it was sort of a combination of love 
and superstition that made me marry you. 

ANNA. Superstition of what? 

HENRY. Well, I'll tell you. One day I was walking down 
the street thinking about Anna and Sarah. I saw a cigar 
lying in the street- done up in a cellophane wrapper. I 
picked it up, and I'll be blamed if it didn't say on the 
wrapper, "Hav-anna," so I took Anna. (They both laugh.) 

ANNA. And then that night you proposed. (Sighs.) Oh 5 
Henry! (Lays her head on his shoulder.) 

HENRY (Pats her hand.) After I proposed you sat there 
for an hour and never opened your mouth. 

ANNA. Yes, I remember. 

HENRY. Believe me, Anna, when I say that was the hap- 
piest hour of my life, f ANNA leaps to her feet and pounds 
him with a sofa pillow.) 


of Dog: 


UNCLE HUMPHREY very wealthy but philanthropic 

BETTY Ms sister 

JUNIOR her boy 

Humphrey is a rather pudgy, good-natured, middle-aged 
man, very well dressed. He has the stamp of wealth all 
over him. Betty is about thirty-five, attired In a pretty 
house dress. Junior is a common everyday boy of eleven, 

nicely dressed, but not overdone. 

SCENE: Nicely furnished living room. 


HUMPHREY is comfortably seated. Near him is 
seated BETTY.J 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. Now, Betty, once more I am going 
to appeal to your common sense. I'm wealthy I never did 
like the word "rich." I'm very wealthy, comparatively 
speaking. Everything seems to have turned my way. I am 
something of a King Midas. I just couldn't seem to avoid 
the money piling up on me. 

BETTY. Please, Humphrey, even though you are my 
brother I cannot do as you say. Tom wouldn't approve. 



UNCLE HUMPHREY. I5ut, my clear sister, why shouldn't I 

|3ass some of ibis money over Lo you and Tom? I have 
much more than I will ever need, tow is a hard working 
man, and I should think hoM he willing lo lei; me do 
something for him. 

BETTY, One man's principles, Hmiiplirey, are not always 
understood by another. He would much raiher go on his 
own. It's very nice of you though, Humphrey, and Tom 
and 1 both appreciate your most kind oiler. I wonder where 
Junior is, 1 haven't seen him for two or three hours. 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. 1 wouldn't worry about him, Betty. 
He'll show up, 

BETTY, You said that a moment ago. Do you know 
where Junior is? 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. Well yes, I do, but I knew if you 
knew you'd set your foot down on that, too. 

BETTY, Humphrey, where Is Junior? 

UNCLE HUMPHREY, Well, 1 guess you'll have to know. 
You've turned me clown so many times on this oiler I've 
made to you and Tom, that I've decided to beat around the 
bush and fix things up for Junior's future. 

BETTY. What? 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. That's right. Bui, Belly, it wouldn't 
do at all it wouldn't be well to do such a thing without 
first teaching him some things during his adolescent years. 

BETTY. Go on. I'm sure 1 don't understand. 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. First, I started working on his one 
weakness. He's been coaxing you to buy him a clog. 

BETTY, Yes, 1 know, and heaven help us if he ever 
brings a dog into this house, 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. Dogs are not so bad. In fact, I 
believe every boy should have a dog. 

BETTY, 1 must disagree with you on that, Humphrey. 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. That's because you never had a clog, 
You have never had the opportunity to loarn of their 

BETTY. Charms or not, I sincerely hope . . * Oh, well, 
Junior's a boy, and if he must have a dog, I suppose he 
must. But what about teaching Junior? 


UNCLE HUMPHREY, Well, Betty, Junior and I had a long 
talk this morning about the value of money, and what 
could be accomplished with money If handled In the right 
way. He's a very bright boy, Betty, and to test his business 
ability 1 gave him fifty dollars. 

BETTY, You you gave Junior an eleven-year-old boy 
fifty dollars? J 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. Yes, to buy a dog. 

BETTY. My stars! Fifty dollars to buy a dog! Why, 
he's liable lo come inarching in here with a half ton Saint 
Bernard. How In the world can buying a dog teach him 
anything about the value of money? 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. In this way, Betty. As I said, I 
talked for a long time with Junior, explaining all about 
money before I finally gave him the fifty dollars. Then 
I said, "Junior, here is fifty dollars. You may use your 
own judgment entirely in this matter. If you think you 
want a dog that costs fifty dollars, all well and good. If 
you want to buy a cheaper dog, and bank the remainder 
of the money, all well and good. I want you to use your 
own common sense In the matter. After you think it over 
you may find something else that will mean more to you 
than a dog." So he took the fifty dollars and scooted 
out of here. 

BETTY (Sighs.) Well, we might as well reconcile our- 
selves to boarding a dog. With fifty dollars in his hand, 
and a craving In his heart for a dog, what can the answer 
be? But 1 clo wish he'd come. (Enter JUNIOR .) 

JUNIOR. Hey, Ma! 

BETTY. Oh, Junior, where in the world have you been? 

JUNIOR. Round looking at dogs. Uncle Humphrey gave 
me fifty . , . 

BETTY. Yes, I know all about that. He gave yu fifty 
dollars for a dog. Where's the dog? 

UNCLE HUMPHREY. Yes, Junior, I'm as anxious as your 
mother to know what you did. 

JUNIOR. Well, you know, Uncle Humphrey, you said I 
could spend it all on a dog if I wanted to. 

UNCLE HUMPHREY, Yes, 1 did. 


JUNIOR. And you said I might find something else that 
might mean more lo mo than a dog. 


JUNIOR. Well, ! found a peach of a dog for fitly dollars, 
but I finally decided that spending fifty dollars on one 

measly dog wasn't just right. 

BETTY. Oh, Junior, Fin so glad! 

JUNIOR. So instead of paying out thai; fifty bucks on 
that dog, I went lo another store and bought fifty one- 
dollar dogs. They're sending 'em out. f"UNc:u<; HUMIMIIIKY 
makes ivry face. BKTTY slumps in cliair. JUNIOR is grin- 




BOB ) . . 

V brother and sister 


Both are in their late teens. Nicely dressed. 

SCENE: Living room. 


(Bo lias on hat ready to leave but stands thinking 

very seriously. Enter ETTA.J 

ETTA. Ah! The statue of "The Thinker" standing up. 

BOB (Aroused from a reverie.) Huh? 

ETTA. I thought you were in a rush to get away. 

BOB. Believe me, I am, Etta, but I've forgotten some- 
thing important. 

ETTA. Bob, just what is the matter with your J?or a 
week now you've been walking around in a dream. What's 
her name? . 

BOB. Aw, go jump in the lake! (Shrugs his shoulders.} 
Well, I might as well sit down till I think of it. (Removes 
his 1M and carefully lays it on the chair. Then starts to 
sit on the table.) 

ETTA. Bob! You'll tip over the table. 
BOB. Oh, yes, that's right. (Places the hat on the table 
and sits in the chair.) 



ETTA. Bob, you didn't used to be like this. What makes 
you so absent-minded now? 

BOB, I'm not absent-minded. Everybody makes mistakes. 
To err is but human, or something like that, 

ETTA, No, you're not absent-minded, (laughs.) What 
did you do this morning when you left the house? 

BOB. What did I do? 

ETTA. You kissed the door arid slammed Mother. 

BOB. You're off your nut, Sis* I ... 

ETTA. And yesterday when you left for school you 
dropped your collar button. 

BOB. I distinctly remember that 1 did not drop a collar 

ETTA. And then you rolled under the dresser and waited 
for the collar button to find you. 

BOB. I did not and I can prove it. 

ETTA. Yeah? 

BOB. When I got to school I discovered that I had for- 
gotten to wear a shirt. (Scratches his head.) There's 
something I should do arid I can't go until I think what 
it is. I'd give fifty dollars if I could think of it. 

ETTA. If you had fifty dollars you'd put it in the bank 
and forget which bank it was in. Go through the alphabet 
and it may bring it to mind. 

BOB. Say, that is a good idea. A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H H 
Etta, what comes after H? 


BOB. You? 

ETTA. No, L 

BOB. Well, that's what I said you. 

ETTA. H-I-J-K . . . 

BOB, L-M-N-0-P-Q-R-S-T T . . . what comes after T? 

ETTA. Gran-ma conies after her tea . . . 

BOB. That's a punk joke, but it reminds me I forgot to 
eat any lunch. 

ETTA. Grandma conies after her tea . . . 

BOB, That isn't the important thing I forgot, (Doorbell 
offstage,) Get that, please. 


ETTA. All right, lazy. (Exits, but immediately enters 
with a letter.) It's for you, Bob. 

BOB. Thanks. (Rips open the letter^ reads it and waves 
arms.) Hooray! Now I remember. Hooray! 

ETTA. Remember what? 

BOB. Now I remember what I forgot to remember. This 
letter, Etta, clears up everything. 

ETTA. But what is it? 

BOB. Listen. "Dear sir: This letter is to remind you 
that you have neglected sending in your final payment on 
the memory course you are taking with us." 


It to 


MOTHER , who knows a few things, too 

OWKN , her eighteen-year old son 

EON A. her nineteen-year old (laughter 

SCENE: Living room. Telephone on a small stand. 


fGw'KN i5 sprawled lazily In a chair. EDNA is standing 
beside his chair.) 

EDNA. Please, Owen! 

OWEN, No! Absolutely, positively, no! I'm put for the 
evening, and if you don't like it, Sis, you can drag that 
brand new boy friend of yours off in the moonlight. But 
you're not going to budge me. 

EDNA. I'm too tired to go places tonight, Owen, and 

OWEN. Say, who is this new one? 

EDNA, Will you go and let us have the room for the 

evening ? 

OWEN. No, I won't. 

EDNA. Then I can be as stubborn as you, Owen Weber, 
and you'll not find out his name from me. 



OWEN (Shrugs Ms shoulders.) 0, K., Sis. Makes no 
dif to me. 

EDNA. Then you won't get out of here for the evening? 

OWEN. You heard me. No! As soon as I get a good 
book from my room I'm going to take roots and be per- 

. EDNA. Belter get a book on how to repair Dad's car 
that you smashed up this afternoon. 

OWEN. I didn't smash Dad's car. It was that big palooka, 
Red Allen, that banged into me, and believe me, Sis, If 
the cops hadn't come up when they did I'd have smeared 
that bird all over the road, 

EDNA. Red Allen? 

OWEN. Yes, Red Allen! I'd have walloped him so 
hard . . . 

EDNA. Why, Owen, Red Allen could beat you up before 
you could say "Jack Rabbit." 

OWEN (Stands.) Huh! Another hero-worshipper, aren't 
you? Just because he was lucky enough to make a coupla 
touchdowns you think he can . . . (Laughs.) Why, Sis, if I 
run into that guy there's going to be one more patient in 
the hospital. (Enter MOTHER while he is talking.) 

MOTHER. Owen, are you starting another world war? 

OWEN. Mother, one haymaker on that matinee idol's 
kisser and the war would be over before it started. (Throws 
back his shoulders and struts from the room.) 

MOTHER (As she and EDNA laugh.) Just big boy stuff, 

EDNA. Mother, can you make Owen stay in his room 
this evening? He insists on staying right here, and I can't 
entertain Jack Warren with that pestering brother of mine 

MOTHER. Did you ask him to vacate? 

EDNA. I asked him; I begged him; I pleaded with him, 
but he is so stubborn. 

MOTHER. Leave it to Mother. (Goes to the phone.) 
M-8-7-3-2, please . . . Hello, Clara. Will you call me back 
in about one-half minute? . . . Oh, just for fun. I'll tell you 
later. Goodbye. (Hangs up the receiver.) Now 5 Edna, 

watch big brother Owen get out of this room without much 
hesitation or argument. 

EDNA. I don't understand, Mother. (Enter OWEN with 
a book. He jlops into the chair and is immediately ab- 

sorbed in the book. Telephone rings. MOTHER goes to the 

MOTHER. Hello . . . Oh, yes . . . Why, yes, indeed, I will 
Goodbye. (Hangs up the receiver.) 

OwKN (Showing no interest,) For me? 

MOTHER. For Edna. 

EDNA. What was it, Mother? 

MOTHER. It was your new boy friend, Edna. He'll be 
a little late getting here. He's taking his mother somewhere 
in the car. So you can read a little longer, Owen. 

OWEN. A little longer? I'm here for the evening. 

MOTHER. Well, of course, it doesn't matter to me if It's 
all right with Mr. Allen. 

OWEN, Huh? Who? 

MOTHER. Why, you know Red Allen, don't you? He'll 
be here soon . . . 

OWEN (Tosses the book on. the table and stands.) Gee! 
I clean forgot I had to meet Joe. See you later. (Quickly 
exits. MOTHER mid EDNA laugh heartily.) 




GEORGE BURNS waiting, waiting, waiting 

JOHN MANDERS also waiting 

Lois CRAMM who saves the day 

George and John are two business men. Lois is a pretty 
girl of about twenty, nicely dressed for street. 

* * * 

SCENE: Some resemblance to an office, 


fGEORGE is pacing back and forth, his face haggard, 
registering extreme agitation. JOHN is seated, disconso- 

GEORGE. Why doesn't she come? Oh, why doesn't she 

JOHN, For heaven's sake, George, stop it! I say, stop 
it! You're driving me insane! (Loudly.) Stop it! 

GEORGE. But where is she? (Looks at his watch.) Al- 
ready it is half an hour past the appointed time. ^ (Stops 
and glares at JOHN.J Man, have you no emotion in your 
makeup? Have you no feeling of . . . ? 



JOHN. George, I realize our plight as much as you, but 
1 am trying to at least lake it calmly. You gain nothing 
by infernally pacing back and forth like a lion. 

GEORGE. If you were suffering as I am . . 

JOHN. But 1 am suffering. Oh, how I'm suffering! Per- 
haps in another minute she will . . . 

GEORGE. John, what if she has deserted us gone back 
on us- doublecrossed . . .? 

JOHN. Stop, George Burns! You cannot honestly say 
that about her. She has always proved faithful, and you 
have no right to distrust her now. Perhaps circumstances 
beyond her control . . . 

GEORGE (Looks at his watch.) Thirty-five minutes late! 
Another five minutes of this torture and my nerves will 
snap like violin strings. 

JOHN. Calm yourself, George, calm yourself. You are 
doing yourself harm by ... 

GEORGE. John Manders, are you senseless to pain? Is 
there nothing that will upset you? Your never-ending 
patience is a hideous thing! Oh, why doesn't she come? 
Why doesn't she come? 

JOHN. I'm as anxious as you to have her come, but why 
carry on when it does no good. (Phone rings.) 

GEORGE (Wildly.) It's Miss Cramm! Get it, John, get 
it ... No! Wait! It may be ... Perhaps she's in trouble. 
Let me answer it ! (To the phone.) Hello ! Hello ! (Returns 
the receiver.) Wrong number. (Paces.) 

JOHN. Will you stop this racing back and forth? You 
go and I'll remain here. 

GEORGE. Never, John Manders, never! I wouldn't desert 
you at a time like this. 

JOHN. Go, George, go. 

^GEORGE. Never. When you go, I go. Not before. I 
know I realize you are suffering as ranch as I. I will try 
to be quiet, John. I'll sit down. (Sits, Then leaps to his 
feet and listens.) Did you hear that? Listen! Feet in the 

hall! Listen! Her feet! They're coming this way! (Enter 


Lois. Am I late? 

GEORGE (Exploding.) Late? Are you late? Forty min- 
utes late! Tomorrow you be here at twelve to look after 
the office. Come on, John, let's go eat. 


Tit for Tat 



Smith is about thirty, rather nicely dressed. He carries 
a shotgun, Jones is about 45, is dressed hi overalls, blue 
flannel shirt, floppy felt hat. Also carries a shotgun. 
* # # 

SCENE: Woods drop. 


f JONES is standing with a gun leaning against Mm 

while he lights his pipe. Enter SMITH.,) 

SMITH (Breezily.) Hello! 

JONES (Puffing on his pipe.) Howdy, stranger! How's 

SMITH. Fine. Hunting? 

JONES. Well, you can't say I'm pickin' cocoanuts. 

SMITH. Hardly. Seems to be a line place for hunting 
around here, doesn't it? 

JONES. Toler'ble. 

SMITH. Have any luck? 

JONES. Plenty of it. 

SMITH. Mind telling me? 

JONES. Well, sonny, I shot fourteen squirrels this morn- 



h* besides eight rabbits an' two pheasants. This afternoon 
I plunked eight quail and a wild turkey. 

SMITH. Say, that's what I'd call shooting. 

JONES. Kinda thought so myself. But take it all in all, 
they're none better with a gun that I ever met up with 

SMITH. What was that list again? 

JONES. Fourteen squirrels, eight rabbits, two pheasants, 
eight quails and a wild turkey. By the way, Mr. ... 

JONES. Jones is my name. What's yours? 

SMITH. Smith. And, by the way, do you know who I am? 

JONES. Can't say I do. 

SMITH. Well, I happen to be the game warden. 

JONES (Laughs.) Well, Mr. Smith, do you know who I 

JONES. Well, I happen to be the biggest liar in the state. 
(Laughs heartily.) 

^ SMITH (Laughs.) Perhaps I'd better lay claim to that 
title myself. You see, I was just sounding you out I'm 
not a game warden, 

JONES, You're not? 

SMITH. No, I should say not. But it happens I did a lot 
of shooting back here a ways, and not being open season, 
I got a bit leary. 

JONES. What did you get? 

SMITH. Twelve quail and eight squirrels. 

JONES (Laughs.) Gosh, you sure had me scared for a bit 
when you said you was the game warden. (Sobers.) Say, 
sonny, it doesn't happen that you are the game warden, 
does it? 

SMITH (Laughs.) If I had been I wouldn't have dared 
shoot twelve quail and eight squirrels. No, I'm not the 
game warden. 

JONES (Displaying the star inside of his overall bibj 
Well, I am. 




HXGGINS a farmer 

LARRY his boy 

JONES a motorist 


Higgins wears overalls, flannel shirt, and an old felt 

hat. He carries a shotgun. Larry, a boy of fourteen, wears 

overalls, an old coat and a cap. Jones is dressed in a 

business suit. 

SCENE: Any scene that gives the impression of a rural 


(Enter HIGGINS and LARRY, Right, HIGGINS carrying a 
shotgun. At Center they stop, looking off Left.) 

HIGGINS (Whistling for a dog and then calling to off 
Left.) Bruno, come back here! 

LARRY. He ran out on the highway, Pa. 

HIGGINS. I see he did, Larry, an' a feller ain't got much 
chance the way them dura fool city fellers drive on that 
road. (Calls.) Bruno! Come back here. That blame fool 



dogTl get killed out there sure'n shootin'. He's gettin's too 
consaraed old to dodge them cars. Look out, Bruno! 
(Sound of squeaking brakes off Left.) 

LARRY. Look, Pa! That man hit Mm! Ran over him, 

HIGGINS. Gosh! Well, one thing, he's man enough to 
stop an' git out'n his car. 

LARRY. He's coming over here, Pa. (Enter JONES, Left.) 

JONES. Hello. 

HIGGINS. Howdy. 

JONES, I suppose you saw me run over the dog? 

HIGGINS. Yep, we seen you. 

JONES. I really couldn't avoid striking him. I was going 
pretty iast, and the dog . . . 

HIGGINS. Bruno ain't as spry as he used to be. Used to 
be the fastest crittur that ever chased a rabbit. 

JONES. Of course I'm willing to pay any damages. It was 
your dog, wasn't it? 

HIGGINS, Yep, we raised him from a pup. 

JONES. I'm certainly sorry it happened. Looks like he 
might have been a pretty good dog in his day. 

HIGGINS. None better, stranger. 

LARRY. Weil, he's gone now, Pa. 

HIGGINS. Yes, Larry, a dog-gone good dog gone. 

JONES (Takes a pocketbook from his pocket.) If you 
had teen wanting to sell him, what would you have asked 
for him? 

HIGGINS. Gosh, I dunno, Never thought nothin* about 
sellin' him. 

JONES.- Although it was really not my fault that he was 
struck, I'm perfectly willing to pay. He came from behind 
that clump of bushes and hobbled directly in the path of 
the car. I had no chance whatever of dodging him. 

HIGGINS. I seen how it happened, stranger, an' I ain't 
a-blamin' you none a-tali 

JONES. Well, now, let me see. "Would you be satisfied if 
I gave you . . . Well, would twenty dollars be satisfactory 
to you? 


HIGGINS. Yes, siree, I'd be mighty satisfied If you gimme 
twenty dollars. 

JONES (Hands bills to HIGGINS.; Well, there you are, 
twenty dollars. I'm indeed sorry about the affair. 

HIGGINS. Thanks, stranger, thanks. Come on, Larry, 
we've got to go home an 5 git a shovel to bury Bruno. So 
long, stranger. (Exits Right.) 

JONES. So long. (To LARRY.J And, sonny, here s a little 
present for you. A whole dollar. 

LARKY. Gee, thanks, Mister. 

JONES. And don't feel bad about the dog. Perhaps your 
father will get you another one. But I am sorry that your 
hunting trip was cut short. 

LARRY. Oh, we weren't going hunting. 


LARRY. Nope. Me and Pa was going over to the marsh 
to shoot Bruno. 


Is No 




DICK RAYMOND who gets an earful 

Gene and Grace are seventeen and eighteen years old 

respectively. Both the neatly attired in pretty house dresses. 
Dick is about eighteen, nice looking, and well-dressed. He 
carries a brief case. 

SCENE: Living room. Telephone conveniently located. 


(GENE is on, lolling in a chair. Looks off Left.) 

GENE (To offstage,) For heaven's sake, Grace, get away 
from that window, will you? 

GRACE. Tut-tut! 

GENE. What? 

GRACE. I said, tut-tut. 

GENE. You'll get squinty-eyed trying to see that new 
family next door. Come away before they catch you spying 
on them. (Enter GRACE, Left.) 

GRACE. But Mother said they were such nice looking 
people, and looked to be very well to do, 



GENE. Mother says that about everybody. You're plain 


GRACE. I am not. Fm just Interested. Love thy neigh- 
bors as thyself . . . 

GENE. But I don't think much of myself. (Telephone 
rings.) Get that, Grace. 

GRACE (To the phone.) Hello. Oh, Mother, where are 
you? ... What? . . . The tax assessor? . . . He's coming 
here? ... We should what, Mother? . . . Tell him we're 
very poor? ... But ... Oh, is that the way they do it? 
... All right, Mother. 'Bye! (Hangs up receiver.) 
GENE. What was it, Grace? 

GRACE. Mother is across the street at Mrs. Thornton's, 
and she says the tax assessor is calling at the houses on this 
street assessing household goods. 
GENE. Well, what about it? 

GRACE. She wanted to warn us not to uphold the value 
of our belongings. The more they're assessed by this man 
the more taxes Daddy will have to pay on them. 
GENE. And then what? 

GRACE. Don't you see, Gene? She wants us to under- 
value everything and give the assessor the impression that 
we are quite poor. 

GENE. We might carry everything up into the attic and 
let him see for himself how poor we are. 

GRACE. There's no time for that now. Mother said he 
would be here most any minute. You're better at lying than 
I, so I'll beat it and let you do the talking. 

GENE. You'll do nothing of the kind. While I'm doing 
the lying you'll be peeking through the curtain at the 
house next door. You're going to stay right here with me. 
GRACE (Sighs.) Oh, all right. (Sits.) Now for instance, 
we'll tell that assessor this rug cost a dollar and a half, 
and . . . 

GENE. Oh, you have to stay within reason. We'll say 
this rug cost well, forty dollars instead of two hundred 
fifty. And the radio well, we bought that second-hand 
for for . . . 


GRACE. Three-ninety-eight. 

GENE. Who said I could lie better than you? The radio 
cost eleven dollars and It isn't half paid for yet. And the 
chairs . . . (Doorbell rings off Right.) 

GRACE. Well, there he is. Can't I go peek out of the 
window ? 

GENE. You go peek out of the door. If he has a bunch 
of papers under his arm you might as well let him in. If 
you don't he'll come back later, and maybe at an inoppor- 
tune time. 

GRACE. 0. K. (Exits Right, GENE quickly snatches 
articles from the table and hides them behind the daven- 
port or the chair. Enter GRACE, Right, followed by DICK, 
who is carrying his brief case. GRACE motions to the 
chair.) Please sit down and take a good look. 
DICK. Thank you. (Sits.) I ... 
GENE. Yes, we know. Now in the first place, there is no 
use wasting time. We're as poor as Job's turkey, or the 
proverbial church mouse, This rug is getting very old and 
frayed and isn't worth much. When new it cost only 
on ly h ow much did I say, Grace? 
GRACE. Eleven dollars, and isn't half paid for yet. 
GENE. No, that was the radio. 

DICK. But it isn't necessary to tell me that, you know, 
You see . * . 

GENE. But it is necessary. The depression just about 
cleaned us out. Dad is in debt up to his ears, and what we 
have is heavily covered by by I think it's a chattel 
mortgage. Of course you'll want to see the other rooms 
In the house, but I might as well tell you the new electric 
refrigerator isn't paid for and Daddy says they'll have to 
come and take it back. The new gas range isn't paid for, 
either. * 

DICK (Takes some papers from the case.) As I was 
going to say , . . 

GRACE. Let him write that down, Gene. 
GENE. But I wanted to tell him about Dad. Daddy's job 
Is liable to go pop any day. His salary has been cut so 


many times . . . Well, you'd be alarmed if you really knew 
how we live. Cornmeal mush three times a day. 

GRACE. But of course, you tax assessors don't realize . . . 

DICK. Why, I'm not a tax assessor. 

GIRLS. What? 

DICK. Fin Dick Raymond from next door. I'm being 
transferred to your high school and I wanted some infor- 
mation about it. (Girls are "sunk".) 





_ igirl friends 




Gertrude and Delores are girls about seventeen. Typical 
high school girls. Professor Van de Wert is a middle-aged 
man, nicely dressed in clothes that characterize a learned 

man. Is very dignified. 

SCENE: Living room setting. 



(GERTRUDE is on reading a magazine. Enter DELORES.) 

DELORES. Hello! 

GERTRUDE (Startled.) Oh! Oh, Belores, you frightened 

DELORES. May I come in? 

GERTRUDE. You're in* 

DELORES. May I sit down? 

GERTRUDE (Laughs.) You may, Delores, (DELORES sits.) 
Where are your books? I thought you and I were to do 
our home work together this evening? 

DELORES, That's all off, Gertrude. Fm going over to 



Ruth's. She's going to show me how to make a new kind 
of salad. I dropped in to see if you would like to go along. 

GERTRUDE. I'd love to, Delores, but well, I can't go 
until Professor Van de Wert calls. 

DELORES. Professor Van de What? 

GERTRUDE. Not Van de What Van de Wert? He's 
calling to see Mother about forming a new literary club 
of some kind. Mother was called away for about half an 
hour, and I have orders to remain here until she returns 
just in case the professor arrives. 

DELORES. The-n you will go with me when your mother 
returns ? 

GERTRUDE. Surely. Salad beats home work, doesn't it? 

DELORES. Is this professor .young or old, and if he is 
young, is he nice looking? 

GERTRUDE. Mother didn't say. The fact is, she has never 
met him herself. So I don't know whether he is eccentric 
and absent-minded, or ... Oh, yes, Mother did say that she 
understood that he was very, very deaf. 

DELORES. How will you talk to him? 

GERTRUDE. I can make motions. (Bell rings offstage.) 
That must be the professor now. Excuse me. (She exits. 
He bows silently to DELORES. GERTRUDE takes his hat and 
coat and lays them on the chair.) 

GERTRUDE (To PROFESSOR.) Mother will be back di- 
rectly. (Motions to the chair and PROFESSOR sits without 
saying anything.) 

DELORES (To GERTRUDE.) He must be awfully deal 

GERTRUDE. Terribly so ! I hardly know how to entertain 

DELORES. He appears as if he didn't expect to be en- 

GERTRUDE (As she sits beside Delores J Delores, don't 
look directly at him now, but notice what a funny little 
shaped nose he has. 

DELORES. I did notice it. Don't you look, either, but 
notice how he combs his hair. It looks like a clothes brush. 


GERTRUDE. Maybe he can read our lips. Most deaf 
people can read lips, you know. Talk sort of sideways. 
Like this. (Talks from the side of her mouth.) Does he 
look like a real professor to you? 

DELORES. My stars, no. He looks more like an old 
clothes collector. 

GERTRUDE. I can't imagine Mother ever picking him out 
to start a literary club. 

DELORES. Of course you can never tell. Looks are so 
deceiving. You often find delicious apples beneath a homely 

GERTRUDE. I wonder if he would be more talkative if he 
were not so deaf. 

PROFESSOR. You girls must have been misinformed. It is 
my brother who is deaf. (Girls are extremely embarrassed.) 


He's Not So Dumb 


MRS. LONG Junior's mother 

J" NI O R the boy 

iVsT? ]F*Tcipr it 

iviii. ribii \ a ca l] er 


Mrs. Long is a pretty woman in neat house dress. She is 
about thirty-five years old. Junior is a typical American 
boy about ten years old. Mr. Fish is a very wishy-washy 
man of about thirty. Immaculately attired. 

* * * 
SCENE: None required. 


(MRS. LONG is seated. She may be reading. Enter 
JUNIOR, Left.) 

JUNIOR. Ma, can I go play ball? 

MOTHER. Not now, Junior, Mr. Fish is calling shortly 
and I'd like to have you here to help entertain him. 

JUNIOR. What d'you want me to do, stand on my head 
or something? 

MOTHER. Hardly that, Junior. 
JUNIOR. Then what? 



MOTHER. Well, Junior, perhaps I should not be saying 
such things, but Mr. Fish is such an uninteresting sort of 
person that I need your help to well, to make things 
easier for me. 

JUNIOR. What's he want here? Dad isn't here. 

MOTHER. Well, you see, Junior, Mr. Fish is forming a 
literary club and he wants me to become a member. 

JUNIOR. Literary club! Plop-plop! Why doesn't he get 
up a baseball club or something like that? 

MOTHER (Laughs.) When once you've seen Mr. Fish 
you will understand that he isn't that type of man at all. 
He's literary, but nothing else, and possesses a very high 
opinion of himself. 

JUNIOR. Are you joining? 

MOTHER. No, Junior, your father is not in favor of it. 

JUNIOR, Maybe Dad thinks you belong to too many clubs 

MOTHER. It isn't that. Your father doesn't like Mr. 
Fish. He thinks he's too "wishy-washy." 

JUNIOR. Say, Ma. 

MOTHER, Well, what is it? 

JUNIOR. Is he the guy Dad was talking about last night 
at the table? 

MOTHER. Yes, I believe he did say some things not so 
complimentary about Mr. Fish. (Doorbell or knock off 
Right.) That must be he now. 

JUNIOR. Last call, Ma. Can I go play 'ball? 

MOTHER. Last answer, Junior. You may not. And, 
Junior, because 111 not let you play ball I don't want you 
cutting any funny didos while Mr. Fish is here. 

JUNIOR. 0. K., Ma. 

MOTHER. And don't forget. (Exits Right. JUNIOR jams 
his hands deep into his pockets and plainly registers his 
displeasure. Enter MOTHER, followed by MR. FiSH.j Mr, 
Fish, this is my boy, Harold Junior. 

MR. FISH (Holds owt hand daintily, which JUNIOR re- 
luctantly accepts,) What a sweet little boy! 

JUNIOR (Jerks hand away.) Thank you. And what a 
sweet little man! 


MOTHER (Reprimandilj.) Junior! Please have a chair, 
Mr. Fish. 

MR. FISH. Thank you, Mrs. Long. (Sits.) 

JUNIOR. Ma, may I be excused? 

MOTHER. You may, but do not leave the house. 

JUNIOR. O, K. (Exits Left.) 

MR. FISH. I presume, Mrs. Long, you have thought over 
what I said a few days ago relative to the formation of a 
literary club? 

MOTHER. Well, yes, in a way I have. 

MR. FISH, I can assure you, Mrs, Long, that you will 
benefit greatly by becoming a member, especially since 1 
will conduct the meetings and personally review the books. 
My wide experience along this line . . . (Enter JUNIOR, 
Left, with small paper bag. He goes directly to MR. FISH.,} 

JUNIOR (Holds bag near MR. FISH'S face.) What's in the 

MR. FISH (Looks in the bag.) Why, my child, those are 

JUNIOR. Gosh, Ma, he does know. 

MOTHER. Junior, what do you mean? 

JUNIOR. Dad said Mr. Fish didn't know beans when 
the bag is open. 



SPUD a newsboy 

R ED a beginner 

SMITH a customer 


Spud is a typical newsboy. Makeshift clothes. Cap on 
the side of his head. Has a paper bag hanging from his 

shoulder. Red, a freckle-faced, red-headed boy somewhat 
smaller than Spud is also attired in a soiled, misfit suit and 
cap. Also has paper bag. Smith is a well-dressed business 


SCENE: None required. 


(RED, a newspaper in his hand, is standing silently 
looking to offstage as though he were afraid to call his 
wares. Enter SPUD.) 

SPUD. How yuh comin', Red? 

RED. N. G., Spud. Ain't sold nothin ? . 

SPUD. Nothin'? Gripes! Yuh couldn't do any worse if 
yuh were tryin 3 to sell battleships. What d'yuh think you 
are, a statue? 



RED. Well, nobody wants a paper. 

SPUD. Course, they don't. Yuh got to make 'em think 
they wants It. You ain't yeliin' loud 9 nongh. (Points to 
offstage.) See that bird leanin 5 against that buildin' over 

RED. Yeah. 

SPUD. Did] a see him before I points? 

RED. Naw. 

SPUD. Course, yuh didn't. He wasn't makin' no noise. 
If he'd been yellin' you'd o' knowed he was there, wouldn't 

RED. 1 git yuh,, Spud. 

SPUD. Folks ain't payin' no attention to yuh less you're 
makin' a lot o' noise. Yell 'em out! Tell 'em what's in de 
paper, an' if there's nothin' in de paper tell 'em there is 
anyway. Listen, Red. I'm turnin' this corner over to you, 
but cripes, if yuh ain't intendin' to do no business yuh 
can't keep it, see? I'm gettin' a chain o' yuh guys on the 
job just like a lot o' chain stores, an' if yuh don't make 
good, out yuh go. See? Now yell. 

RED (Weakly, as he holds out paper and looks to off- 
stage.) Paper! Paper! Buy a paper! 

SPUD. Naw, that ain't right. Listen to me, Red, an 9 
learn somethin'. (Yelk raucously.) Paper! Evenin' paper! 
All about the mummumuguma! All . . . 

RED. About what, Spud? 

SPUD. That's just part o* de noise. Red. Folks don't 
know what you're yellin 9 an' they buys a paper to find out. 
See? Now try it ag'in. 

RED (A bit louder J Paper! Evenin* paper! All about 
the mummumumu . . . Spud, what was it all about? 

SPUD. Gripes, Red! It don't make no difrence what It's 
all about. Just yell something an' yell loud. The louder 
yuh yell the less folks know what you're yellin 5 an' the 
more they'll buy. See? 

RED. I get yuh, Spud. (Yells.) Paper! Evenin' paper! 
Mummumumum! Whoop-eel Rah! Rah! Rah! 

SPUD. Fer the love o ? Mike! You ain't seem' a football 
game. You're sellin' papers. 


RED. Yuh said to make a lot o' noise, didn* yuii? 

SPUD. But yuh got to make the right kind o 9 noise. You'll 
be poundin' on a washtub next. Yell your head off, but 
yell about somethin'. Git 'em interested in de paper an' 
they'll buy 'em. See? Now hop to it. I got 'o beat it. An' 
if yuh can't sell 'em I'll git somebody what kin, see? 

RED. O. K., Spud. 

SPUD. Here comes a swell-lookin* Bozo. Git him. So 
long. ( Runs off. Enter SMITH.; 

RED. Paper! Evenin' paper! Bigges' fraud in de world! 
One hundred an' ten victims! A hundred an' ten victims! 

SMITH. Here, boy. 

RED. Yes, sir. (Hands him a paper and receives a coin.) 
Thanks, Mister. 

SMITH (Quickly scans the front of the paper.) Here, 
boy ! There's nothing here about a fraud. 

RED (Walking away, yelling.) Big fraud! One hundred 
an' eleven victims! A hundred an' eleven victims! 



WILLIE who wants to know things 

FATHER who knows things 

MOTHER who isn't so sure 

Willie is about ten years old, and a common everyday 
boy. Father and Mother are about thirty-five. 

SCENE: None required. 

(FATHER is seated comfortably reading. MOTHER may 
be reading or sewing.) 

FATHER. I see here in the paper that foreign exchange 
is causing more worry on Wall Street. 

MOTHER. I never read those things because I don't un- 
derstand them. 

FATHER. You should,, my dear. Fve explained them so 
often to you, but you don't seem to get what I mean. Now, 
for instance, if our dollar is worth fifty cents in this coun- 
try, and the English pound is worth five dollars, then the 
French franc is changed so that its value is balanced with 
the average set by the dollar and the pound. In other 
words, if ... (Enter WILLIE with books and papers.) 

WILLIE. Was it Balboa who discovered the Mississippi 
River, Mother, or was it Lord Baltimore? f FATHER quickly 



buries his face in his paper so he will not have to answer.) 

MOTHER. I don't remember, Willie. 1 think your father 
can tell you. He knows history like a book. (Smiles mis- 

FATHER. What was the question, my boy? 

WILLIE. Was it Balboa or Lord Baltimore who discov- 
ered the Mississippi River? 

FATHER. My dear boy, I'm surprised. It was Balboa. 

WILLIE. That's funny. You see, the teacher wanted us 
to ask our parents about it. 

FATHER. It was Balboa who discovered the Mississippi, 
Now run along. 

WILLIE. But my history says it was De Soto. 

FATHER. Oh, well, of course, historians differ on that, 

MOTHER. When you get older, Willie, and want to know 
about high finance and foreign exchange your father can 
help you a lot. (Laughs.) 

FATHER. My dear, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, 
and not at all suitable to the ears of adolescent youth. Psy- 
chology teaches us that the adolescent mind is plastic. I 
have studied psychology and I ... 

WILLIE. We had that word in class today and nobody 
could spell it. How do you spell it, Daddy? 

FATHER. Psychology? Why, s-y-p I mean s-y-e-h 
What's the matter with me? I can't seem to say what is 
on my mind. Psychology. P-s-y ... * 

MOTHER. P-s-y-c-h-o-l-o-g-y. 

FATHER. Now, dear, that wasn't a nice thing to do. He 
asked me to spell it, You took it right off the end of my 

WILLIE. Can you spell it now, Daddy? 

FATHER. There is no use repeating it since your mother 
spelled it correctly. Now run along. I want to read. 
("MOTHER bursts out laughing.) What is so funny, if I 
may ask? 

MOTHER. Your spelling sometimes amuses me. 

FATHER. My dear, I've been away from school for some 


time. When I was younger nobody had anything on me 
when it came to spelling. 

MOTHER. If I remember correctly your spelling wm 
quite original. At the bottom of the first love letter you 
ever wrote me you spelled "sincerely" with two 1's. 

FATHER. Bah! Just a slip of the pen, (Resumes Ms 

WILLIE. There's one thing more I'd like to ask before 
I go to bed. 

MOTHER. Yes, dear? 

WILLIE. It's about natural philosophy. 

MOTHER. Laying all joking aside, Willie, this is one 
thing your father does understand. 

FATHER (Looking up quickly.) What was that? 

WILLIE. I would like someone to explain about natural 

FATHER. Willie, I will explain briefly. Ahem! In the 
first place, natural philosophy is the science of cause and 
reason. Do you understand? 

WILLIE. Oh, yes. Go on. 

FATHER. For instance, you see an apple fall downward 
from a tree. Do you know why it falls downward and not 

WILLIE. That's gravity. 

FATHER. You are right. Now, another instance. You 
see the steam coming out of the spout of a kettle but you 
do not know why or for what reason it does come out. 

WILLIE. The heck I don't! The reason the steam comes 
out of the kettle is so that mother can open your letters 
without you knowing it.